


Mighty Bastard

by Majik724



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Confrontational Dany, Dragon Riders, F/M, Jon Snow has his own dragon, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Multi, Pissed off Jon, R Plus L Equals J, book characters thrown into show canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majik724/pseuds/Majik724
Summary: The seven kingdoms knew him as the bastard of Eddard Stark.  They would to learn that he was so much more.  And when the North stood alone, defeating a threat of untold scale, they would remember.CHP1 is a test run!





	1. Chapter 1

**Davos Seaworth**

How long had it been?

 

Too long, he knew for certain, since his king had shown anything but that scowl.  So unlike what he’d seen at Castle Black and even in the first days of his crowning.

 

Jon Snow had never been a man to smile much, as far as he knew, but it was hard to imagine him ever being… like _this_.

 

Davos found it hard to blame the man.

 

How many could face every day after the things he’d seen, fought, or dealt with?

 

Isolated, betrayed, outright _lied_ to by his own people.

 

What was growing up in a castle, when his life outside of it had been nothing but one extreme hardship after another?

 

He’d never asked for a crown, but the Lords placed that burden upon him.  Never had political power been something he wanted, but he wielded it as gracefully and honorably as his blade. 

 

And what had they done to him?

 

Accused him of being delusional. Sending him on a death march into an icy wilderness filled with monsters they could hardly imagine, all because they couldn’t fathom the idea that the history books might _actually_ be telling the truth.  Lady Seaworth would have smacked him upside the head for doubting the man after all Davos had seen.

 

But this was a story for another time.  There was too much to do… well not really, but he certainly would rather think on the tasks for when they landed on Dragonstone.

 

After his time away, Jon had secluded himself to the library within Winterfell to research the possible locations to find Dragonglass.  Davos was more that pleased to announce his knowledge of such a place.  He’d served his former king from that island for long enough to have heard a rant or two about how useless the mineral was.

 

The objective was simple, mine the dragonglass and ship it to the north to be forged into weapons. That was it.  No political scheme to be made, no battles fought.

 

Since Stannis had left, none had taken the island as far as anyone knew.  The smallfolk may carry a historical loyalty to the Targaryens, but the only thing they’d truly care about was the mindset of the current occupant. If they were good and fair, all would be well and the smallfolk would embrace them during their stay.

 

Jon was not laying claim to the island, merely trying to make use of its resources for the good of the realm.  None but those who had seen that monstrosity agreed to the _KING_ coming south.  And he was the king.  After that moment, his grey eyes blazing at everyone except for Lyanna Mormont, none would ever challenge him again without ample reason.

 

Least of all was Lady Sansa, terrified and ashamed as she had been.

 

But again…that was a story for another time.

 

The piercing screech of the roar interrupted his thoughts, bringing his aged eyes to the sky above their ship.

 

Scales as blue as the deepest parts of the sea, eyes of violet so alluring and _intelligent_ that it frightened him.  And her temper…Gods above, her temper was something else.

 

Jon Snow’s dragon was a creature only approachable by him and Ghost.  Her hatching had caused quite the stir, until the king set those near treasonous thoughts to rest.

 

Tessa, he’d named her. After some other dragon of similar coloring.  She was different than other dragons apparently, having four legs and the wings being on separate limbs.  That was what he’d gathered from looking over his king’s shoulder while the man poured over books on dragons in the surprisingly vast library of Winterfell once again.

 

“We’ll be upon Dragonstone by this time tomorrow your grace.”  Davos spoke to him as though he didn’t know the man.

 

Jon snow stood at the edge of the ship, one hand on the railing, the other coursing through the thick white fur of his wolf, and his eyes stuck on the dragon.  Raven locks as curly as ever, splotched by the salty spray of the sea.  Gone was the cloak or the ornate decoration he’d kept due to his sister’s advice. The man no longer cared about looking the part of a king.  He was doing his duty to ensure the living defeated the dead and nothing more.

 

When that gaze shifted off of the dragon, it changed.

 

He lost that awed look he had whenever he gazed at Ghost or Tessa, and in its place a hard and cautious stare.  His eyes being the color of the ripples in a Valyrian steel blade certainly made it more intimidating. 

 

Jon Snow may not be the most imposing of men by figure, but his character, the look he placed upon you was as inspiring as it was frightening.  The old Jon had died.  And Davos didn’t know how much was left of him this time around.

 

“Make sure everyone is prepared to get to work once we dock.  I won’t waste time here in the south, not when the true fight is so close to our doorstep.”  Jon gave him that look of suspicion that he’d given everyone since that day.  It pained Davos to accept that there was a good reason behind it.

 

“Should we prepare a guard your grace?  In case some of the smallfolk are loyal to Cersei and think to get a reward?”

 

Davos had delivered the raven’s scroll from King’s Landing, with Cersei demanding that Jon come and bend the knee or face her wrath.  Jon had thrown it into the fire as soon as he read it.  His reasoning was sound.

 

_The minute I set foot into her domain, she’ll behead me no matter my intentions.  I’m a threat to her rule._

 

“No Ser Davos, I am guarded well enough with Ghost, Tessa, Longclaw and Darksister.  The men are of better use in the caverns.”  Davos had no reply to that.  Jon was widely considered the best sword in the North, if the not the entire continent since Jaime Lannister had lost his sword hand.  Add in a very protective pair of Direwolf and Dragon, and there was little that Davos could see harming the man without it being a battle of losing odds.

 

And his finding another Valyrian blade was just as odd defying as his liberation of Winterfell.

 

“Very well, my King.” Davos spoke quietly with a nod of his head.  His age and hard-worked bones made giving anything more fairly difficult, though Jon didn’t seem to mind.

 

Once more, the sounds of deckhands and the sea were all that broke the silence.  Jon had been more introspective, more prone to brooding, since his return.  There was little to be done about it, he admitted.  The man had every right to be cross with nearly every person in the North at the moment.  What was supposed to be a mere meeting in the Great Hall of Winterfell had turned into a mocking trial of their proclaimed king.

 

Of the Northern Nobility, only the little Lady Mormont had stood on his side.  The only Freefolk that had been in the room, had been Tormund and the blonde beauty that was Val.  Both had been looking about to draw blades and start slicing into the men, but only stopped when they saw the expression on Jon’s face.

 

A resignation of what he knew he’d have to do.  A deep and long-lasting pain being brought back to the surface, hidden under an expression of acceptance.  The Lords had quieted the beratement when the tiny dragon, as she was only a week old at the time, had risen to her hind legs and roared as mightily as she could. Quite a sight it was, seeing her perched atop the back of Ghost, both creatures looking around the room with a primal anger.  One not quelled by mere words.

 

_“You don’t believe in the threat we face, and that I understand. I did not believe until I saw them for myself.  When I return, you will see.  You will understand.”_

Jon had nearly marched from the room before Lord Royce had pleaded to have a few of his knights accompany the king to the wall and beyond.  Jon accepted to having 3 accompany him to Castle Black, but no further. The knights of the Vale were not used to the far North, the climate, the terrain, and they would only slow him down.

 

Something had happened at Castle Black, and instead of Jon treading into the True North with men of the Night’s Watch, those same 3 knights had gone with him.  Returning some days later stating that Jon was dead.

 

At the time, the story most believed was that the Wildlings had taken advantage of Jon’s mental instability, something caused by the amount of death he’d been forced to deal out in such a short time span.  He had turned his own guilt of killing into a hallucination of stories brought to life. White Walkers, the Night King, an army of the dead marching to kill them all.

 

How they managed to nearly kill his king with Ghost and the Dragon nearby was still something that he didn’t understand.  Perhaps Ghost had taken the Dragon with him for some hunting?  It had looked as though the Direwolf had taken the dragon under its wing, if they weren’t with Jon, they were still together.

 

The king hadn’t gone into the details, nor did anyone ask how he managed to survive.  But if there was one thing Davos knew of Jon Snow, he was one hard man to put down for good.

 

“Tessa, to me.”  Jon called out, his voice lost in the wind. Davos had barely been able to pick it up, and he knew for certain that the Dragon couldn’t have.

 

Even so, the dragon banked right and came to a glide near the railing where Jon stood.

 

Other than an occasional beat of her wings to keep herself level with Jon, she kept still with her eyes locked onto him.

 

Davos watched as his king brought a hand to the dragons sleek scaled head, the dragons eyes fluttering shut as his bare hand stroked along near her jaw.

 

“I know you’re excited girl, but you have to eat.”  Davos had seen magic in its most vile uses, the shadow creature that killed his former King’s brother.  He’d seen that same person bring Jon back from the dead.  But this was a magic that seemed pure.

 

His ability to seemingly understand and communicate with Tessa was just as confusing as it was aweing. The she-dragon gave a whining sound, followed by something akin to a chirp.

 

“Don’t give me that. We both know that you’re still hungry. 3 fish aren’t enough to keep you sated for over a day.”

 

What a thing it was, watching the dragon pull her head away as he imagined a young girl would when she was irritated with a father or brother.  For a creature that looked so fearsome, Jon treated her like a human a lot of the time.  His doubt over the dragon understanding had been washed away long ago.

 

“Go on now, I know you saw that tuna back there.  I won’t have you starving yourself because of losing track of time while flying.”

 

The dragon gave a few more sounds that were nonsense to the Onion knight, which made Jon chuckle. Ghost gave a bark as if to answer for himself, propping himself up on the railing to get closer.

 

“Yes, I will sleep out here with you and Ghost, _if_ you go and eat.”

 

Not for the first time, Davos wondered how much like the human mind a dragon possessed.  Tessa gave Jon a long stare, before she huffed a circle of smoke around his face and flew off a little way into the distance. That must have been where she had spotted the tuna that Jon mentioned.  Davos had stopped trying to understand how his King was somehow able to see through the eyes of his… _companions._

 

The blue dragon circled in the air, head dipped down towards water as she looked for her meal.  She had already become nearly of the size of Ghost, who stood about as tall as a horse now.

 

Tessa soared into the sky before turning herself down, wings tucked in and tail straightened, legs brought close to her torso.  The splash was fairly small, considering her size, as she entered the sea.  It seemed a lifetime before she emerged, wings beating the water away and bringing her back into the air.

 

The fish she brought up would have fed 3 men for all three meals that day, impaled on her razor-like teeth, bleeding and wriggling.  As if it were a game, Tessa tossed the meal into the air and sending forth a torrent of blue tinged orange flames.  With the mighty snap of her jaw, the charred fish was eaten.

 

 

**-LineBreak-**

**Jon Snow**

Even with Winter upon them, Dragonstone was almost unbearably hot for him.  So used to the icy temp of the wall was he, that even something temperate like the island’s climate had him sweating through his clothes. Having arrived to shore 4 days prior, they had quickly been led to one of the caverns by Davos.

 

Even at the entrance, Jon had been able to see the Dragonglass littered in the rocks.  Black and smooth, giving off different colors under the light of a torch.  Reds, greensand blues all shimmering in that dark rock.

 

The castle was large and imposing, sat upon the jagged cliff edges and made more so by the dreary grey sky. The closest he’d gotten to it, was when they come to shore.  The beach was long but narrow, showing no signs of being walked upon recently.

 

The cloak made for him by Sansa was placed with the other few belongings he’d taken with him. There was a part of him that never wanted to wear it again, the reminder of how _fickle_ his sister had become.  She had told him that she wasn’t some easily manipulated girl with her head in the clouds anymore, and then she proved herself wrong.  Littlefinger had played her easily this time as well.

 

It was a sad thing, that only 3 people truly had his trust anymore, one of them being a girl of 13. Jon had admitted to himself that it couldn’t last, but he remained hesitant.  Having died once, then nearly being assassinated twice within a quick timespan did that to a person.  Lyanna Mormont had won his trust with her unwavering loyalty, Tormund and Val had it for much the same reason.  The two Free Folk weren’t ones to sugarcoat anything, telling him what was on their mind bluntly, which was how he preferred it.

 

Jon had needed a break from the dark caves, the dings and cracks from the mining, and the echoing voices in the cave.  Most of all, he needed to get away from stares of the Northern men.  They looked at him with shame and fear.  None of the men from Northern houses that came along were ones that had stayed quiet during that meeting where he’d been ostracized.

 

They thought him mad because of his claims of the White Walkers, a hidden Targaryen because he had Tessa.  And perhaps he was.  Perhaps it was true that Ned Stark had lain with a woman of Targaryen blood, but that only made sense if his father hadn’t known it at the time.  That could explain why he never told Jon about his mother.

 

Whatever the case, Jon didn’t care like he used to.  No matter the circumstance or the lineage, Jon was a bastard.  The events of his birth changed nothing about the person he’d become, it made him no less a son of the North.

 

Now here he walked, up the cliffs and through the foliage of Dragonstone, seeking only the peace and quiet that came with solitude.  Tessa and Ghost were down on the beach near his tent, sleeping through much of the day after hunting last night.

 

The trees were few and the grasses tall but patchy, all thanks to the heat of the volcanic island. Much like Winterfell, the ground was warmer than the air because of what laid beneath the ground.  Only here it was molten rock instead of heated water.  It made an interesting contrast of temperature.

 

Still though, Jon felt it was too hot for his liking, and had only a dark tunic that was completely unlaced at the neck to help keep him cool.  Though he suspected he could be completely naked and still be too hot. He was of the North, through and through, his potential Southern blood hadn’t made a difference there.

 

As he walked, losing himself to thoughts, Jon weaved through the thickest expanse of trees he’d seen on Dragonstone.  They were thick, old, ashy near the bottom, but the bark grew darker the higher parts of the trunk.  The grass was practically nonexistent under the canopy of green that he walked through.

 

For what seemed ages he walked, liking the way that the breeze rustled the leaves above and brought a scent of flowers to his nose.  He’d seen quite a few varieties here so far, all were colorful and new to him. The North was subdued in that regard, the climate too cold for most of the visually stunning flowers and plants.

 

There was one in particular that caught his attention, or at least he thought they were the same. Long and flaring petals of differing colors, come white, some a deep purple, others the color of fresh blood. Their fragrance was something he liked, strong and lingering in his nose after taking a whiff.

 

Jon continued on his walk, mind going from one topic to next with no sense of order or reason.  The wall and its defenses, the White Walkers, Winterfell and its current state, Ghost and Tessa, his two blades, the reality that he might have bastard Targaryen blood, the feeling he’d gotten the last time he was in the crypts of Winterfell.

 

Brooding as he was, Jon didn’t notice the air growing thicker in humidity, he didn’t feel the beads of water falling onto him from the leaves brushing against him.  It was only when the sound of rushing water seemed very near to him, that Jon pulled himself out of his thoughts.

 

It was loud but didn’t sound like a large body of water.  Other than knowing that he’d been walking south, Jon didn’t know where he was on the island, nor how long it had been since he’d left.  He turned towards the sound and started walking west.  This would bring him closer to the castle.

 

The lands on the island of Dragonstone were uneven and one could often see cliffs even when going inland, so it was no surprise when Jon came upon a cliff with a steaming waterfall. The stream falling down the rocks was only as wide as his arm span, perhaps less.

 

The pool collecting the water about the size of the one in the Godswood in Winterfell.  But where the water back home had been black from the rock’s underneath, this water was a hazy light blue in its clarity.  The rising steam made the pool enticing, and Jon felt the muscles in his back and shoulders remind him of the long day’s work since coming here.  From the time he woke till he fell into his bedroll in the night, other than eating, had all been spent hard at work.

 

He had almost started to think that whatever smallfolk _had_ been here, had died out after Stannis left.  There had been no signs of them coming anywhere near him or his men. Surely the noise they were creating could be heard, especially when the men were settling down and having a drink near a fire.

 

Jon knew that they were still around though, he could see the smoke from where they must have had a village to the Southeast of where the cavern being mined.  That meant that they either were afraid of whoever had come, or they didn’t care.

 

To be honest, Jon wasn’t sure he cared which of those it was.  The less people that knew they were here, the better.  If Cersei caught wind of it, she might send a force to wipe them out. That was part of the reason they had sailed without banners.

 

He’d only taken 20 men. This wasn’t to be a force meant to hold off any sort of attack, merely a preliminary one to get a handle on how to mine the Dragonglass.

 

Without realizing it, Jon had undressed and was creeping towards the water before him, just about to place his foot in it to test the temperature.  It was hot, almost scalding, but it was pleasant in a way that Jon couldn’t describe.  Moving to sit at the edge, Jon felt his body start to yearn for the soothing waters. 

 

He ached, the sort that could be forgotten in the heat of the moment, but when he was still it never failed to remind him of how hard they’d been trying to collect as much Dragonglass as possible as soon as possible.

 

Sinking into the waters slowly, Jon released a sigh of bliss.  It was hot, no doubt about that, but it felt so damn _good_.  His back, shoulders and arms were already starting to slowly unwind from the overuse since his arrival.  The knots that had developed were easing and it made Jon feel so much lighter.

 

He shouldn’t stay in here too long, otherwise he might just…

 

Jon’s eyes closed and his mind blanked before he could finish the thought.  Jon was asleep in the shallow part of the pool before he could do anything about it.

 

**-LineBreak-**

**Danaerys Targaryen**

Angry did not quite fit what she had been feeling as of late, at least not fully.  Anger was most definitely a part of it however.

 

Her sailing to Westeros had been delayed, by an illness brought into the city by a merchant from Westeros, and it had run through the city of Mereen with little stopping it.

 

Fever, vomiting, hallucinations, disorientation, lack of appetite, excessive sweating, body aches. Those who caught the unnamed illness were bedridden for days before they could even do so much as lift their head off a pillow.

 

Danaerys had been one of the unfortunate souls to catch it while walking through the streets.  She’d come across a merchant man that had meant well when he approached her, offering thanks for her liberation.  He was a well-known man that had been nearly run out of business by the former slave masters.

 

He employed former slaves with glee, only too happy to offer those he could afford some work to help them sustain their own living.

 

Most of her advisors had been spared thankfully, with only Grey Worm catching it, so the city had been run by Tyrion for the most part.

 

She had tried to argue that she was well enough to lay in a bed while they sailed, even getting so far as to step aboard a ship.  That ended quickly as a small swell rocked the ship just the smallest amount, and she was heaving every morsel consumed that day.

 

The next day, Danaerys had spent much of it dry heaving, and she was somewhat thankful to have solid ground beneath her feet.  She had not stated this to anyone, though Missandei seemed to see right through her as the Naath native usually did.

 

What came after were strange and vivid dreams of dragons, snow, battles and fire.  There was too much to be discerned after waking, but Dany assumed that her mind was running away with the thought of returning home and the state of the lands with Winter approaching.

 

But she and the rest of her forces were finally well enough to make the trip, having set sail just that morning.

 

Her mind was awhirl with what was to come as her eyes were stuck on the sky, her children frolicking above.  They must have sensed her anticipation and were flying in exaggerated loops and dives to spend the energy.  There was a pending meeting that she was trying to avoid, for reasons she wasn’t sure of herself. 

 

She could feel that something was about to go wrong.  She _knew_ it.  There was a feeling deep inside of her that couldn’t be ignored, similar to how she’d stepped into the flames, unafraid and somehow knowing that she’d be just fine. Words were wind, but her gut had never proven her wrong before. So she would wait for what she felt was inevitable, for her advisors to relay the next problem to be dealt with.

 

“A fine day to set sail for home my queen, don’t you agree?”  Her hand, Tyrion Lannister, said from where he approached.  Turning her head to glance at him, she saw that for once, he didn’t have a drink in hand.  Perhaps he thought better of it since they were likely to be swaying from side to side quite a bit, and being in a drunken stupor for much of that would only upset the stomach.

 

“Indeed, my Lord.” She answered simply, but not unkindly.

 

Dany liked him.  A Lannister he may be, but Tyrion had a wit about him that she found refreshing.  His sarcastic comments and jokes were a nice change from the always serious people that had surrounded her before.  The way he loathed the Lannister name seemed to only be outmatched by her own, as far as she saw.  Though his story of killing his own father kept her from trusting him absolutely. 

 

A man willing to go to such lengths was one to keep at a certain distance.

 

“You may feel this to be something too intimate to share, but _I_ feel this to be an important topic.”  Dany tensed, waiting for him to finish.  What was he about to ask her?

 

“How did Daario take the news?”  And then she relaxed, understanding both aspects of his previous statement.

 

Yes, ending things with her lover might have been something deemed too private for her to share with him, but at the same time it was important to know.  If Daario had taken it too poorly, then he might not be willing to rule over the city as she had dictated.  The sellsword had proven himself loyal to her, while in her presence. Who knew that could happen now that she was gone?

 

“Better than I’d expected, worse than I’d hoped.” 

 

Daario Naharis was not used to being the one dumped.  He had done something she’d never thought him capable of, he _pleaded_ her to come along.  Danaerys had no illusions about him remaining as steadfast to her cause as he’d been before. But hopefully she could establish herself within Westeros before needing to send someone across the sea to check in.

 

The most surprising part of all that, had been her own reaction to delivering the news.  Dany knew that she’d likely have to form an alliance through marriage once in Westeros.  But it was the fact that she’d felt _nothing_ when telling him, no pain, or remorse, or sorrow.  Just… _nothing._

 

There was a time that Daario had set a blaze within her, a lust she hadn’t felt in a long time.  But it had withered, as many things do.  She knew there was no love on her end, but the opposite had proven to be quite false.

 

_‘He **claims** to love me, at least.’_  She did have her doubts on whether the man had an idea of what love truly was.  Dany wasn’t sure that he did, as it was so different from the last few months with Drogo.  Though even she had to admit that her late husband may have been influenced by the child she carried.

 

“One less thing to hold our attention until the throne is yours then.” It appeared as though her hand had also thought of just how Daario fare without her present.

 

“We advisors have asked for your presence my queen.”  Turning towards Tyrion, Dany felt that gnawing feeling grow.  She was about to hear the problem awaiting her.  Best to get it over with.

 

“Very well, let us head below.”  She gave her children a loving look before heading into the ship with Tyrion.  The hand of the queen lead the way through the narrow halls, wood creaking as the ship swayed from left to right under the pressure of the waves.

 

It was a short walk until they reached the area that had been turned into her council room.  The table at the center had a map of Westeros unrolled and held in place by nails, the chairs weren’t all that comfortable, but they would do for now.  She wasn’t planning on having to meet with her advisors here very often.

 

Tyrion held the door open for her, and when she entered Dany was met with Varys, Missandei, Kovarro and Yara Greyjoy.  It seemed as though no one was particularly concerned with her reaction, so it couldn’t be _that_ bad… She hoped.

 

“Lord Tyrion, please enlighten me as to the meaning of this meeting so soon after leaving Mereen.” She said, sitting in her chair at the head of the table delicately.

 

Tyrion grabbed the wine placed on the table before seating himself, which could be a sign that she might not like what was about to transpire, but it remained to be seen. Tyrion had a habit of drinking at what seemed to be every waking moment.  She would have to make sure that he kept his wits about him.

 

It was only now that she was giving him her full attention that she noticed it.

 

Tyrion was trying to control the shaking of his hands, his jaw was tight, and his eyes strained. Something was _very_ wrong indeed.  He drank deep, emptying his entire glass in one go before refilling it. He stalled before downing the second, thinking it better to speak now before he was unable to.

 

“My sweet niece Myrcella is dead, as is my nephew Tommen.  The Great Sept of Baelor has apparently exploded from a cache of wildfire, killing the only Tyrell members with the ability to carry on the family name. On top of that… _Something_ has happened in the North, though there is only some detail as to what that may be.”

 

Her neutral mask fell, leaving a frown of both horror and sorrow in its place.  So much death, so much pain.  Now she understood why Tyrion seemed so out of sorts, and she could hardly blame him.  Her hand had talked about his niece and nephew quite a bit, and Dany had come to think of them as mere children being controlled by the monsters that were the adults surrounding them.

 

Joffrey had been the only one that Tyrion had spoken ill of, and he was dead before Tyrion had come into her service.  House Tyrell had been one that she’d been wary about, though now it seemed to be all for naught.

 

Dany said nothing as Tyrion drained his second and third glasses of wine, knowing that this was a blow to his heart that only time could heal.  He knew that she needed him, but if left without his vices, he just may well be inconsolable.

 

After some silence and words of condolence, Danaerys moved on to what else her hand had mentioned.

 

“What of the news from the North?”  Looking around the room, only Varys seemed to be the one that had any sort of idea of what may have transpired.  That didn’t surprise her, the spider had a vast spy network that no kingdom seemed to be able to escape from completely.

 

It had been hard to get news from the North for quite some time, as the Bolton rule took further hold on the region.

 

“The details aren’t very clear your grace.”  Varys began, his eyes unreadable and his hands hidden inside of his sleeves as they usually were.

 

“What is known however, is that Ned Stark’s bastard son, Jon Snow, seems to have left the Night’s Watch and somehow managed to remove the Bolton’s from power.  The North appears to be in the hands of him and his half-sister Sansa Stark.”

 

Her advisors watched as her expression darkened uncontrollably, violet eyes narrowed in irritation and a fury repeating the words of her house.

 

_The Starks_.  _Usurpers dog’s, Northern savages._   Her brother’s stories of them echoed in her mind.

 

“How did this come to pass? I don’t care if it’s mere rumor, I want whatever it is you’ve heard.”  Her voice was demanding and full of fire.  Her kingdom was bleeding itself, and she counted the days until she could set foot on its soil and set it to rights.

 

It was rare to see Varys uncomfortable, but that was the only way Danaerys could describe what she saw in him then.

 

“The Warden of the North, a legitimized Bolton bastard named Ramsey Snow, had been married to Lady Sansa. The stories revolving around this man are only spoken of quietly and discreetly.  Rape, Flaying, feeding men to hounds, among others.  Sansa escaped to Castle Black and sought out her last known living sibling.  There was a battle with the odds being heavily favored to the Boltons, but Jon Snow somehow managed to win and now the Direwolf flies above Winterfell once more.” Varys was clearly holding something back, and by the distasteful expression it wasn’t something that could even be considered a rumor.

 

But Dany had other questions.

 

“I thought the members of the Night’s Watch took vows for life?”  It was what she’d read after all.

 

“They are.” Tyrion responded in a shaky tone, but at least he was engaging in the conversation.

 

“Then how has he not been branded a deserter and executed?”  Her eyes were locked onto Varys, who obviously had some other knowledge on the situation.

 

“It is said that he was murdered by his own sworn brothers after letting Wildlings through the wall, then resurrected by a red priestess.  Some say he fled in the night, sneaking into Winterfell and engaging Ramsey Snow in single combat and coming out the victor, though these seem to be the least credible.  I heard whispers of Jon Snow being named heir in the will of his brother Robb Stark, releasing him of his vows and naming him King in the North, though I’ve heard nothing of a new ruler in the region.”

 

Danaerys started to seethe with this new information.  There was another possible usurper, another who would rebel against her.  Of course, it would be the family that had been the start of her family’s downfall.

 

Tyrion and Varys watched as their queen lost herself in thought, not knowing what she was thinking outside of the quiet mutterings of “Usurpers dog” “Savage rebels” and things similar.  As her mood continued to deteriorate, they had to wonder if she knew the truth of what had inspired the rebellion that had caused her life in exile, though none were brave enough to broach the subject.

 

**-LineBreak-**

**Jon Snow**

“Is he sleeping, or dead?” There was a voice near him, young and high pitched.

 

The fog of a dreamless sleep was lifting, and the light danced over his closed eyelids.  It had to be mid-afternoon based on the suns position, or at least he’d guess so.

 

His eyes opened slowly, still heavy in exhaustion from his duties and the work done over the last few days.  Though he felt more rested than he had since leaving Castle Black, Jon knew that he would likely fall back to sleep if he continued to lay in this far too soothing pool of hot water.

 

The way its small current weaved around him at the edge had lulled him into a sense of calm.  His limbs felt pruned and his back relaxed, meaning it was passed time to get out.

 

“Oh! He’s not dead!” The voice was similar this time, but different all the same.

 

Jon yawned deeply before turning towards it, not feeling threatened at all.  It was quite clear to him that the voices were children, young ones at that.  He had no reason to be afraid of them, and they had no reason to fear him.  His back gave a satisfying crack as he twisted, sleeping in that position had done him no favors, but it was still better than he’d started out before his little dip in the pool.

 

Jon smiled when he saw the two figures.  A pair of young girls, quite obviously twins, no older than 7 or perhaps 8.  Sandy blonde hair and brown eyes, thin but not scrawny, wearing homespun clothes that were thicker than Jon had been wearing and they still seemed to be on the verge of cold.

 

“Aye, not quite dead yet.” He said quietly and with a smile that he hoped ease their posture.  They looked unsure if it was safe to approach him or not.

 

Something he said seemed to make them uncomfortable, one more than the other.

 

“You shouldn’t fall asleep in the water, you might die.”  The one that was slightly shorter spoke, peeking from around her sister.

 

“Right you are, though I didn’t mean to sleep here.”  It had been a while since he’d interacted with any children, his time in Winterfell hadn’t allowed much for seeing much of the smallfolk or families.  His duties and other events had kept him occupied before his departure.  Both of them.

 

“Mama says that you shouldn’t sleep in the bath.”  The shorter one was much bolder than the other, the taller sister kept her eyes locked on Jon and looked suspicious.

 

“Your Mama is a smart woman.”  Jon answered, slightly amused by the slight alteration of the same statement.

 

“You should get out of the water before you get sick or fall asleep again and die.”  The taller sister elbowed the shorter one.

 

Jon smiled wider, wondering how long it had been since he’d had a conversation that was ultimately meaningless and had no motives for positioning behind it.  The last time he figured, was probably with Sam or Tormund. Either during his time with the Wildlings, or before he was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

 

“I would, but my clothes are over there.”  Jon slowly lifted a hand to point to the tree where he’d set his things.  The girls followed with their eyes and eyed the two blades, one taller and thicker than the other.

 

The shorter one turned back to him quickly with anger on her face.

 

“Hey!  You’re naked in _our_ pool!”

 

The laughter was hard to hold down, the innocence of youth with heartwarming.  No wars to worry about, no political schemes to uncover, or assassinations to thwart.  It was just the simple pleasures with children of this age.  He remembered Arya and Bran being that young, how they wanted to skip lessons and just play all day.

 

“My deepest apologies M’ladies.  As I said, my clothes are by that tree there, and it would be horribly inappropriate of me to get out now where you could see.”  One thing he certainly didn’t need was for some of the smallfolk to accuse him of trying anything untoward with girls as young as them.  Both Val and Tormund would slice him root and stem if that were the case.  The Northmen that had come along would probably just whisper in the night, fucking sycophantic tendencies that came into play when one held power… he hated it.

 

The taller one eased a small amount, but still hadn’t said anything to him.  The shorter one had seemed to take a liking to him for reasons unknown and laughed at his predicament.

 

“Hehehe, you’re naked and trapped!”

 

Jon felt a tug on his mind, one that he thought was ill timed and could have horrible consequences. Ghost and Tessa were coming towards him. Quickly.

 

His light expression had started to fall into concern and worry over what might happen if they found the two girls before he could get out and dressed, but another voice came into the clearing.

 

“There you are Jon! If you want to go off and brood, at least give someone an idea of where to find you!”  And she sounded annoyed.

 

The girls turned towards the new voice, catching sight of the long braided blonde hair first.  Val walked into the clearing with a spear in one hand, and the other on the dirk on her hip, clearly on the lookout for any threats.  The Wildling Princess paused when she saw the two young girls, then turned to Jon slowly with a smile that promised pain.

 

“Having fun?”

 

Jon grimaced at what she was insinuating, just the thought was enough to send his stomach turning. Though he saw that the smirk she hid, letting him know that she’d never think him to stoop so low.

 

Jon sighed and was about to answer, when the conversation was taken over.

 

“Are you his wife?” It was the taller one this time, stars in her eyes as she looked at Val.

 

Val had the body of a woman that _any_ man would kill to claim. Skin as soft as fresh fallen snow, lips full and enticing, eyes a mix of grey and blue, the flair of her full hips making her thin waist prominent.  She was beautiful, graceful, and _deadly_.

 

She had become much less antagonistic towards him over the time spent together, especially after Hardhome. He tried not to think of that day.

 

Jon could only see her profile as she eyed the twin girls, but the upturn of her lips was not something he liked.

 

“That I am, and who are you two lovelies?” Her voice was soft towards the girls, much more than he typically used with her, though there was a measure of amusement in there as well.

 

Jon almost couldn’t hold back the snort.  Him? Married to her?  She’d slit his throat the first night for sure. Her threat of castration should he try to slide into her bed came to mind.  Though Tormund had mentioned something one night that made him think that to be more of a challenge than a threat.

 

“I’m Aubrey, and this is my sister Alice!”  The shorter one, Aubrey, took over the conversation once more.

 

Val took a knee to be eye level with them, likely the only time she’d bend the knee willingly while in Westeros.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.  This is Jon, and my name is Val. Now what are you two doing all the way-“  Jon pushed himself upright so some of his chest was out of the water.

 

“Val!  I need to get out of this pool.  _Now_.”  Jon could feel that Tessa and Ghost were close, and he didn’t want to know what might happen if Tessa thought he might be threatened. She was young and didn’t like anyone but him, it could end poorly.

 

While clearly irritated that he’d interrupted her, Val saw the look in his eye.  That look only came when there was something wrong, and the only thing she could think of at the moment would be his beasts.

 

A familiar screech came from overhead, and Val was quick to come up to the girls.

 

“Okay girls, I need you to turn around, so Jon can get out of the water.”  She’d placed a hand on each of their shoulders, lightly trying to turn them around though their attention had turned up to the sky.  They turned with only a little guiding, and Val made sure that they stayed that way while Jon hopped up and made long strides to his clothes as the beat of wings came closer.

 

“What is that?  I’ve never heard a bird so big before.”  Alice sounded scared, and she had reason to be. That was no bird descending, Jon just had to hope that Tessa wouldn’t scare them too badly.  He didn’t need stories of him threatening children with a dragon.

 

“It’ll be okay.” Val said, though Jon could tell that she wasn’t quite sure of it herself.

 

Still dripping wet, Jon put his small clothes on quickly, then reaching for his breeches.  He only managed to get them laced and was reaching for his shirts when he heard the quick and quiet padding of paws nearly upon them.  Ghost and Tessa must have made a game out of who could find him first, because he couldn’t feel any tension from them.

 

That was good, but he wanted to be-

 

“Oof!”  Jon was knocked over and lost his grip on the shirt.

 

All he could see was white.

 

A low whine came from the air, and when Jon opened his eyes, he could see the blue scales reflecting what was left of the sunlight.  Ghost’s red eyes were in front of him then, a happy and proud gleam in them that came right before a tongue across his face.

 

“Okay Ghost, you found me first.  You win.” A bark came from Ghost, and a loud huff from Tessa as she landed in the small clearing.

 

“Jon…”  Val called out weakly, something so unlike her.  But Tessa made her nervous for obvious reasons. Ghost was friendly to many, but not his dragon.

 

“Right.”  Jon pushed Ghost’s face over to the side and stood just as Tessa made her way over.

 

As he stood, both of his companions seemed to look over at the same time.

 

Jon hadn’t had time to fully dress, but it would have to do.  He hoped his scars didn’t scare the girls if they saw them.

 

Throwing his hands up towards both wolf and dragon, Jon willed a sense of calm towards them, stopping them in their tracks when they started to bristle.

 

“Easy you two.”  His voice was calm and quiet.  “Easy, everything is okay.”

 

Jon waited until they both looked to him.  It took a while, especially for Tessa, the more territorial of the two.  Once they did, Jon turned his head to Val.

 

“I think we’re good Val.”

 

“You _think?_ ”  She wasn’t a fan of certain things, dragons were one of them, people infected with greyscale and those born of direct incest were another.

 

She took a breath to calm herself before addressing the girls that had started shaking in fright from the way the woman holding onto them was acting.

 

“Girls, I need you to be brave okay?  You’re safe, but when you turn around you will see something that might scare you.”

 

Alice had her arms tightened around herself, while Aubrey had them in a prayer pose, white-knuckled from her tight grip.

 

“What is it?”  Alice’s voice shook, but both her and Aubrey were starting to slightly turn their heads.

 

Jon took that moment to reaffirm that neither Tessa or Ghost would do anything.

 

_Be nice you two, they are just children._   Ghost was no issue.

 

Tessa though, she was watching closely, eyes moving from Jon to the girls and back again.  She sat down, and that was as good a sign as any that she wouldn’t make any moves.

 

Val eased her grip, letting the girls turn to see what it was that had come towards them so quickly.

 

While Aubrey had been the more adventurous one, less inclined to be wary, she was scared stiff when they turned to see the wolf and dragon.

 

Alice was still as well, but there was a curiosity in her eyes, less afraid and more amazed at what she was seeing.

 

“Mama said all the dragons were gone…”  Alice whispered, eyes locked onto the blue scaled creature before her.

 

Aubrey whimpered, which made Ghost start to approach with his head low, which Jon knew to be a sign he wouldn’t harm them.

 

Both girls stepped into Val at his movement though, as they weren’t aware of this.

 

“Ghost, to me.”  Jon called.  The Direwolf looked back to him, then to the children, before coming back and sitting and Jon’s side.

 

“This is Ghost, he’s friendly if you come up to him slowly.” Jon had a hand on both creatures, just to be sure.

 

Alice stepped forward first, Aubrey grabbing for her sister’s hand to stop her, but missing by a few inches.

 

“He’s beautiful.”  She whispered, nearly within arm’s reach. Ghost sat at chest level to Jon, so he had to lay on the ground for the girl to seem more comfortable with approaching him, something that Jon apparently wanted.

 

Her hand came out slowly towards the wolf, shaking visibly but remaining there.  Ghost moved to sniff her slowly, before pressing his nose to her palm.  His way of saying it was okay to touch.  The smile that came over Alice was delightful, and she gently stroked the areas she could reach from where she stood, not brave enough to come closer.

 

“Aubrey you have to feel him, his fur is so soft.”  Alice called to her sister, who was eyeing Tessa warily.

 

“I…I’m scared.  The dragon might eat me.”  With Jon assured that Ghost understood how delicate this situation was, he took his hand off the wolf.

 

“Ghost, go say hi to Aubrey.”  His wolf was smart, and had heard the names of those that were usually around Jon. Hearing one that was unfamiliar made it easy to determine what was being asked of him.

 

Alice withdrew her hand, watching in awe as Ghost stood towering over her, before carefully approaching the girl still pushing herself into Val.

 

When he got close enough, Ghost laid back down and looked at the girl.

 

Val was close enough to scratch at his ears, which made Aubrey more comfortable with moving to touch him too.

 

When she finally started to scratch at his chin, Ghost closed his eyes and lifted his large head, getting the girl to laugh.

 

“I’d let you come say hi to Tessa, but she really only likes me.  I’m sorry.  She won’t hurt you, but I’m the only one that can touch her.”  When Jon said this, Tessa huffed and turned her head haughtily.

 

Jon patted her neck with a bemused smirk.  “Yes yes I know, you’re a princess.”  Tessa chirped in agreement.

 

Val and the girls got their fill of petting Ghost before realizing how dark it was starting to get. Aubrey and Alice were at a near panic, as they were supposed to be home any minute or “Mama will scold us”.

 

Before they left however, Aubrey turned to Jon with a smile.

 

“Mama will be happy that you’re nice.  Everyone was worried who came on the boats.”

 

Jon smiled to the girls, feeling lighter than he had in quite some time.

 

“Those who came with me mean you no harm, I’m sorry that we worried you.”  With that, the girls left with a wave, leaving Jon and Val in the clearing of the waterfall.

 

“Good thing you don’t have those crow vows anymore.”  Val said as she handed him his shirt.  If the girls had seen his scars, they either hadn’t said anything or weren’t scared of them.

 

“Why is that?”  Jon put the shirt on and went to pick up his blades.

 

“You’re good with children. You’ll be a fine father.”  She tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a smile that he didn’t know what to make of, before walking passed him and towards their camp.

 

Jon paused in tightening his sword belt and couldn’t help the thoughts that came to his mind.

 

_‘Maybe, but I’ll never have children of my own.  It is a horrible thing, to be put down for a name like Snow.  No child deserves that. Nor should a woman.’_

Walking back to camp, Jon returned to the hardened man he’d been since that night in Great Hall in Winterfell.  His respite was over, and it was time to get back to work.  He had no idea of the rumors and stories he’d set in motion because two little girls met him in the forest when all he’d wanted to do was relax in the steaming waters.

 

All seven kingdoms were quickly whispering of things thought long gone, of the possible lineage of the man with both a wolf and a dragon by his side.  His beautiful wife.

 

And the scars on his chest. Jon had stopped caring if others saw them after going north of the wall, and it had helped him assure the Northern Lords that he was no oath breaker.  His watch had ended.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“So…Daenerys of House Targaryen, _what are you?_ ”

 

The question left a heavy tension in the air, as if the fate of the world hinged upon her answer. Through the corner of her vision, her hand’s expression certainly seemed to mirror that sentiment.

 

She wanted to be sympathetic, wanted to show the emotion felt at what he’d told her.  There was little chance for him to be lying after all, what with the woman in the arms of a large red-haired man.  The proof was within eyesight, and those two little girls, clinging to him so desperately… It broke her heart. The stone casing she tried to keep around that vital organ was heated to impossible levels when she looked at the Dothraki man, a dragons fury lit in her gut for what he’d done.

 

Grey eyes blazed at her, unconvinced, unmoved, and she knew that he had the moral high ground.

 

“Are you a conqueror, a liberator, or a tyrant?”

 

He made it sound so simple. From this conversation, though it was more an accusation than anything, the world seemed so black and white to man before her.

 

Their first meeting was not going anywhere near the way she’d wanted.

 

 _If I look back, I am lost._   Unfortunately, to understand what was happening now, we must look back.

 

**-LineBreak-**

**Daenerys Targaryen**

She could see it now, the place of her birth, the ancestral seat of her family.  Even in the clear sky with the shining sun, the castle was a foreboding one.  The architecture was sharp and precise, styles from Valyria that had been lost to the world in the doom, stones making it up were black as night.

 

Her children could feel it too, they were _home_ at last.  Rhaegal and Viserion were flying together as per usual, with Drogon much higher in the sky, his shadow casting itself over multiple ships.

 

While muted in comparison to her connection with Drogon, she could just barely feel the intrigue that came over Rhaegal.  Something had his attention that he wanted to investigate, she thought it to be a site he would use to rest.  Viserion noticed it too, but was less interested, while Drogon disregarded it completely which wasn’t unusual.

 

The winds had been kind as had the sea, bringing them to Dragonstone with no unplanned setbacks.

 

Behind her were the fleet of ships sailing under her banner, along with those of her allies.  The sun and spear of the Martells, the Kraken of the Greyjoys, and the flower of the Tyrells.  They had gotten lucky, Lady Olenna had given her support with little prodding.  The queen of thorns, as she was called, wanted vengeance.  That was something she was all too willing to give.

 

It was time that Cersei Lannister get her due.

 

“I must say, your ancestors knew the importance of appearance.”  As per usual, Tyrion had come beside her, likely to address the many coming tasks for her campaign.

 

“First impressions are the foundation, my Lord.”  She did not turn to him as she spoke, watching the magnificent sight of dragons above Dragonstone once more.  Something inside her relished it, a piece of herself finally being put to rights.  The sight was something she’d dreamed of, and her dreams had a history of coming true.

 

“Quite so.” The skin in his hand was fiddled with, before popping the top off and taking a generous drink.  She wondered how he could function as he did. Through the sarcastic comments, patient counsel, and general devil may care attitude, Dany saw a pain in his eyes. It was most apparent when there was nothing presently being dealt with, as he lost himself in whatever task occupying his time.

 

She wanted to know what it was, what caused it. It was doubtful to be remorse so killing Tywin Lannister.

 

“Was there something you wanted, or did you just wish to make small talk?” Her dexterous brow rose, knowing that Tyrion was always moving towards the next step. Small talk was not something he typically took part in.

 

“When we make land, I imagine time will be in short supply.  Perhaps it is best to speak of your potential marriage before then.”  It was quite obvious that the topic was not one he wanted to bring up, which she was not sure she understood the reasoning behind.  It wasn’t _him_ that was going to be married off to someone.

 

It was an inevitable thing, she knew, in order to secure an alliance of some kind.  Had Tyrion been thinking on this so often that he was already confident on who her husband would be?

 

“You have picked my suitors already?”  That either spoke highly of the individuals chosen, or the poor state of the country.

 

“I have names in mind, my queen, but nothing finalized.  The Great Houses certainly hold the most to offer and would be the only match worthy of a queen.”  That was an obvious statement.  With an alliance to one of the Great Houses, she would have an entire region, one of the kingdoms securely in her hold.

 

Her eyes narrowed as she thought on that further.  House Greyjoy was already an ally of hers, and the state of it was up in the air at the moment what with Euron Greyjoy being named king of the Iron Islands. There was House Arryn of the Vale, but she’d been told that the head of house Arryn was just a sickly boy.

 

The Riverlands had seen a change in power over the years, with the Frey’s now being the Lord Paramount. She would not accept a marriage to them, not after they had betrayed the house they were sworn to.  Slaughtering people at a wedding was not someone she wanted to align herself with.  Even if House Tully was still in charge, Lord Edmure had wed a Frey.

 

She very much disliked where this train of thought was leading her.

 

Other than her own house, there were only two others.  Lannister and Stark.  What was Tyrion going to suggest?  Jaime Lannister was the heir to the Westerlands but was also the man who had murdered her father.

 

And house _Stark_ …

 

“Before that however, I feel it necessary to ask…” Tyrion paused, his green eyes slightly glazed over from his consumption of wine.

 

“My Queen, what do you know of the Rebellion’s beginning?”  The question left her confused, not understanding why this was important in any way.  Knowing that Tyrion had a purpose for bringing this up, she obliged.

 

“My brother supposedly kidnapped Lyanna Stark.  Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn rose their banners when my father refused to tell where they had run off to.”  She spoke with confidence, knowing the story through the many times Viserys had told it.

 

She was not pleased when Tyrion lowered his head with a sigh and shook it.

 

“No, my queen, that is not an accurate account. Lyanna Stark disappearing, and banners being raised, that is true. But Ned Stark would not have risen against your father just for that. He would have set to finding her himself and avoid the thousands of lives being lost in a war.”

 

Her temper flared, blood rushing and pulsing through every part of her body.  Viserys may have been cruel, and prone to a delusional sense of grandeur, but he was no liar.  He felt no reason to hide the truth, not even that he’d let thousands of men and horses rape her in order to get what he wanted.

 

Biting the inside of her bottom lip, her violet eyes were locked onto Tyrion as she willed herself to stay calm.  It was difficult, but he had proven his counsel to be wise.

 

“Ned Stark’s elder brother Brandon was set to marry Catelyn Tully, was even on his way to Riverrun for the wedding, when he received word that his sister had been kidnapped. The man was said to be hot-blooded, and he burst into the throne room demanding Rhaegar ‘come out and die’. A foolish decision truly, given your father’s disposition, but what man would not want to slay his beloved sister’s kidnapper?”

 

Dany could feel the turn of the story, knew it was coming just as she knew that something was afoot right after they’d set sail.  The anger was receding as it turned to worry, wondering just how bad this tale was about to go.

 

“Your father had Brandon Stark charged with treason and demanded his father, Lord Rickard Stark, come to answer for his son.  Rickard was advised not to go, but did anyway, assuming a trial or bargain would be made. He demanded a trial by combat when both he and his son were charged with treason.  He was burned alive with wildfire as his son watched, struggling to reach a sword just out of reach, strangling himself to death. King Aerys then called for the heads of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon, _that_ is when the banners were risen.”

 

The fire she felt was doused, a cold and icy feeling of disgust and dread replacing it.  She’d known her father to be mad, burning his _enemies_ to death.  But this… it was needless. An act of brutality and abuse of power just to sate his own dark desire.

 

“Why have I not heard of this?”  Her voice was quieter and weaker than she liked, but there was no helping it.  She was coming to fully understand the depth of her family’s madness.  It was likely the same path that Viserys would have walked had he lived to an age of their father.

 

Tyrion turned to her with a look of such sympathy, such understanding, that she knew he’d experienced a similar shock at some point in his life.

 

“We thought you knew, Varys and I that is.  It was only when we set sail and mentioned the Stark’s retaking Winterfell that it was questioned.”

 

Yes, her vitriol fueled thoughts would have definitely been a source of concern, especially with what she suspected he was thinking, and the reason for her being told all of this.

 

It was going to be important for her to know all the wrongs her father had done to the realm, but the timing was pointing to something specific.

 

“The Stark’s and their men did not rebel just because Lyanna went missing.  They did it because their Liege Lord and his heir were murdered for what came to be nothing more than a whim of your father. The North is by far the largest of the kingdoms, and I suspect that none will ever garner the depth of loyalty they have for the Stark’s.  With winter upon us, the odds of your army being able to defeat the Northmen is greatly diminished.”

 

“You propose a marriage to gain the alliance of the North.”  It wasn’t a question, for it was plainly spelled out to her.

 

For a moment, she wanted to dismiss his claim that the North could hold back her army, but she thought better of it.  It was colder here on Dragonstone that any of her men had ever experienced.  They had never even seen a flake of snow, so how would they adapt to having it up to their shins or worse?

 

“If Jon Snow is even remotely similar to his father, who had a reputation as the most honorable man in Westeros, then I suspect the Lords will rally behind him. When Robb Stark was named King in the North, every other sibling was either considered dead or with their enemy. All except for Jon.”

 

“They would favor a bastard over his trueborn sister?”  The question slipped out before she could stop it.  She loathed how children were held to a lesser standard because of something they had no control over.  She was careful not to let the disgust of her own query show.

 

“Lady Sansa was forcefully wed to me and then to the Bolton’s.  Neither family has done the North any favors. I have my doubts about them not questioning her loyalty. The girl is smart, but she’s been around southern politics for too long, and that doesn’t work up in the North.”

 

Her poor choice of words and the feelings it elicited were forgotten in her curiosity on what her hand was saying.

 

“Explain.”  She needed to know just what he was talking about. Day by day, Tyrion was proving himself to be a wealth of helpful knowledge on her homeland.  There were useless anecdotes in there as well, but it was far outweighed by his useful knowledge.

 

“King’s landing, like much of the Southern kingdoms, thrives on the greasing of palms or fake smiles and empty promises.  In the North it is one’s own character that earns you respect. Northmen are blunt and to the point. If you prove to be adept with a sword, you could rise to be a master at arms, though their standards are different than others. The dishonest are snuffed out. The only reason the Bolton’s came to power was because they had the backing of the Lannister’s, and the North was bled too dry to fight them after the War of Five Kings.”

 

Dany had heard of the climate and terrain of the North from Ser Jorah. Snow storms that left you wading in it knee deep, a bone chilling cold that only the thickest of furs could keep at bay.  In a place like that, it was easy to imagine that they had little fondness for wasting time with pleasantries.

 

“If Jon Snow _has_ taken the position of his brother, Sansa will be a powerful tool for him.  Through her mother, Sansa is half Tully.  They could rally forces and take the Riverlands. Their father was fostered by Jon Arryn, who married Catelyn Stark’s sister Lysa. The Vale would be an easy ally for the North, and the Knights of the Vale are highly reputed.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Daenerys absorbed all of this.  Here she was, expecting at least _some_ of the houses to be willing to accept her, as the Lannister’s had done nothing as of late but bring more death and despair.  Instead she was hearing how she could be losing kingdoms left and right.

 

“Your Grace, I realize that at this point in time it is a lot of speculation, but it is all we have to go on until Varys receives reports from his little birds.  I only knew Jon Snow for a short time, but his sense of honor and loyalty was exactly that of his father.  We know he left the Night’s Watch, and I can see no other reason for that besides taking the mantle of King in the North through his brother’s will, should that prove to be true. Through Jon Snow, you gain the power of three kingdoms, leaving only the Westerlands and Crownlands.  This would not only save you time and lives, but you will gain more trust with the people fighting in your name.”

 

Try as she might, Dany could not find reason to doubt his logic.  She was going to bring lasting peace to Westeros, one way or another. If it had to be through Fire and Blood, so be it, though she would much rather have it be through peaceful means.

 

“If this Jon Snow does indeed have such control over the kingdoms as you foresee, then he should be my top suitor and the first we reach out to once we have been informed of the recent events.”

 

**-LineBreak-**

**Sansa Stark**

He was alive, and he was home.

 

Bran was so different from the last time they’d seen each other.  That was to be expected given the length of time and what they’d all been through, but his stoic demeanor saddened her.  She could remember the boy he’d been, wanting nothing more than to be a knight of the realm, saving people and going on adventures.

 

Meera Reed stood at his side, never being more than a few paces away if not within arm’s reach. She was glad that Bran had someone that cared for him.

 

Many of the Lords had gone home, so much was to be done and prepared for, which left only a few still in Winterfell to see his return.

 

She was not ashamed to admit that there had been tears falling down her cheeks as she embraced him in the courtyard.  Everyone around could understand her relief and the flooding emotions.

 

It was when she sat with Bran and Meera near the hearth in his chambers that things took a turn towards the uncomfortable.

 

“I have seen many things Sansa, beyond the wall and in my visions.”  His voice was almost cold but most definitely detached from most facets of reality.

 

“One can only imagine. Jon told me about the Night King.” Her back was warm with it towards the fire.  Bran wasn’t looking at her, but into the flames, and Meera kept her eyes locked on him.

 

“Yes, if not for Hodor and Summer, Meera and I would not be here now. But that is not what I would like to ask about.”

 

His eyes shifted then, so like hers and their mothers. Auburn hair and blue eyes.  Despite the lack of emotion in his entire visage, she could feel the slight accusation in his gaze.

 

“What happened with Littlefinger?  I could only see pieces of it.”  Sansa recoiled as if struck, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape.  She had not fully believed him when he said he’d been having visions of events both past and present, and outcomes of possible futures.

 

It defied all known logic.

 

He had only been home for a few scant hours, and she’d been beside him nearly the entire time.  There was no point in which someone could have fed him information like that.

 

“What…What do you want to know?”  Sansa had to force the words out.  She could not lie to her brother, as it would get out anyway.  It was her shame to bear, there was no use hiding from it.

 

“I saw him speaking to you and the Lords in the Great Hall, but I couldn’t hear what was said.  I saw him linger in hallways, listening.  Then I saw Jon kill him in the old way.”

 

 _The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword._   It was what their father had taught them. If you declare a man’s death, you looked him in the eyes when you did it. If you couldn’t look a man in the eye when you ended his life, perhaps he did not deserve to die at all.

 

She didn’t want to think of it anymore, the ways in which she had aided in the near death of her brother. Marrying a Lannister and a Bolton brought her less shame than that, for at least she could claim that she was only trying to survive.  Littlefinger had played her and the lords to his tune, with little resistance from all but Jon, the Freefolk and Lyanna Mormont.

 

“He used me.  He used my trust issues against Jon.”  And she would be making it up to him for the rest of her life, whether or not he felt it was necessary.  Their father would have been so disappointed in her. Sitting back in her chair, Sansa took a breath and readied herself to divulge just how her and the Lords had been used, manipulated into sending Jon to another assassination attempt.

 

“The lords were still incoming when the first plot against him occurred.  Jon was in the crypt, paying respects to father.  He hadn’t seen it, as he’d been with the Night’s Watch. Ser Davos, a man that had come with Jon, was walking with me through the courtyard when we heard the commotion. A guard had been killed and a Wildl-“ She paused, remembering the proper term that those from beyond the wall used for themselves.

 

“A Freefolk man had been stabbed in the chest.  There was a barrel of oil being moved from the walls towards storage.  It had been opened and rolled into the crypt, set alight with a torch and the ironwood door closed.” 

 

She could recall the image clearly, seeing the smoke seep through the bottom of the door, black and thick. The screams and bellowing of the Lords that had already arrived.  They wanted the Freefolk removed from the North, if not killed, for plotting against a son of the North.

 

“We thought that the Freefolk man had a grudge with Jon and wanted him dead, but both him and the guard died before we could learn anything.  When the flames died out, we found Jon unconscious by the statues of father and Aunt Lyanna, with a blue dragon on his chest.”

 

With Davos, Lady Lyanna and Lord Manderly at her side, they had found Jon on the floor.  His clothes were scorched but his skin unmarked by the flame that had certainly rushed over him.  If it wasn’t for Ghost, no one would have had the courage to approach Jon. The Direwolf had walked up and thrown the creature onto his back so they could attend to her brother.

 

“As Jon recovered, Littlefinger started making comments about him possibly being a Targaryen, and that going beyond the wall had left him mentally unstable.  Small comments here and there about how that family had been paranoid about one thing or another. When the meeting finally came to be, Jon was crowned King in the North.  But he seemed almost fanatical about the Night King and his army. Everyone gathered, me included, started to think that perhaps littlefinger was right, that Jon had lost himself at the wall, and that perhaps all of the Wildlings suffered the same from the brutal cold and conditions so far North.”

 

She could feel the tears gathering, remembering the hurt look in his grey eyes.  He had done nothing to earn her skepticism.

 

“He said he understood, that he didn’t believe in them until he saw it himself.  Jon left, and Lord Royce had convinced Jon that he should at least take an escort to the wall, offering three Vale knights.”

 

Her lip quivered, breath becoming unsteady as the urge to sob got more intense.  Never in her life had she felt like such a horrible person. She thought that she’d learned her lesson on Knights and princes not being like the songs. She’d proven herself wrong.

 

“The Knights came back, saying they’d watched Jon jump from the wall, screaming nonsense about dead men and the end of the world.”

 

It could be held back no longer, Sansa’s head dipped as the tears fell down her cheeks and on to her lap.

 

“The crowned me in his place, saying they should have never trusted a man that would let wildlings through the wall, and I accepted it.  I was _happy_ , I grieved for Jon for nothing more than a few minutes and then relished in being queen.”

 

Sansa looked up, and while Meera looked saddened and a little angry, Bran showed no emotion. Oddly, that made her feel better, like he wasn’t judging her.

 

“I ordered Moat Cailin to be restored and manned, and as I was seeing them off…”  Her Tully blue eyes, red rimmed and cheeks stained with tears of regret, peered at her brother.

 

“Jon came back.  His dragon Tessa was pulling three of the undead into the courtyard.”  Her sadness fled as her jaw tightened, willing away the shaking and quivering of her lip.

 

“ _Three_ of them Bran. I sent my _brother_ , _my king_ , into the wilderness against an army of the dead! If not for Tessa and Ghost, we wouldn’t have believed until it was too late. Those Knights were paid by littlefinger to kill him beyond the wall, and I don’t know how he managed to not only survive but accomplish the task he’d set out with.”

 

Bran met her hardened gaze unflinchingly, but Meera seemed to pick up on something from him.  She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze for comfort that seemed to do very little.

 

“Arya will be upset with you.”

 

Sansa laughed at the mention of her sister.

 

“Yes, if Arya is still alive somewhere, she will be.”

 

“A friend has told her that Jon is King in the North. She’s coming home.”

 

Through the heavy silence that reigned, hope started to fill the air between the Stark siblings. Their family had been fractured over the years, but they were piecing themselves back together at last.

 

The way it should have always been.  A pack of _wolves_ defending their territory from the enemy, be they the Night King, Cersei Lannister, or Daenerys Targaryen.

 

No storm, no long night, nor a mad lioness could keep them down.  Each had a skillset that would have a part to play in their victory.

 

**-LineBreak-**

**Jon Snow**

It was weeks into his little mining operation now, and Jon was still feeling the tension of everything at risk.

 

He had to wonder how much time they had before the Night King would finally breech the wall and march south.  If there was magic in the wall that kept out the white walkers and the army of the dead, the Night King could be waiting for either the sea to freeze over, or for something specific.

 

Like looking for the horn that Mance had claimed could bring the wall down with a single blow. _The Horn of Winter_ they called it.  Could such a thing exist?  It didn’t seem any more unlikely than there being a wall several hundred feet tall and hundreds of miles long. 

 

His eyes were closed as he rested in the pool of steaming water, having taken a great liking to it over the weeks.  Jon wasn’t sure what it was that drew him to it.  The heat was nice, soothing the aches of his muscles.  But he was fond of the cold, not the blistering cold of the wall, but of the time of summer snows.  That was his favorite time of any of the seasons.

 

To stand upon the walls of Winterfell and watch as the snowflakes drifted down without a breeze guiding them. Fluttering as they tumbled from one direction to the next, and the crunch of a deer’s steps on the morning frost.

 

This was different, but equally as tranquil to his being in a way he didn’t understand.

 

No…scratch that, Jon _thought_ he understood.  There were enough hints now of who he really was, or at least where his parents had come from.  He raised among the wolves of Winterfell, he understood _ice_ , the cold and rigid.  His wick was long and slow-burning, but even he had his limits. Once that wick reached its end, he felt nothing but _fire_ in his veins, something he had long thought from having what his father called _wolf’s blood._

 

Yes, he carried the legacy of a dragonrider in his body, but it was only due to his Northern side that he’d connected to her so well.  Jon was no proficient warg like Orell, his grasp on the ability was more of developing a deep bond with the creature given enough time.

 

He had warged into Ghost in his dreams, but other than those it was just an understanding of his companion’s emotions and desires.  With Tessa it was much the same, even though Ghost was intelligent for a wolf, there was a clear gap between the wolf and the dragon.

 

Tessa understood things that Ghost could not.  His wolf was smart enough to deduce things from process of elimination and familiarity. Words and phrases that he’d heard enough times to understand.  Tessa was not so limited.  His dragon _knew_ what she was, that she was an apex predator if there ever was one.  While she listened to him, she expected to be treated as such.

 

His jest in calling her a princess was not so far from the truth.  She felt that she was above others, like royalty almost.

 

Her desire to _burn_ things had been hard to curb, and Jon could only relate his success to knowing that she was different from what most dragons were said to have been.  There were only 3 known dragons before her that had four limbs and separate ones for their wings.  Each said to be smaller yet smarter than the rest. They were quick on their feet and the fire they produced burned extremely hot.

 

Jon knew that his saving grace would come from her love for him.  As much as he was loath to do so, Tessa was going to be needed for the true fight in the North.

 

How long could he reasonably stay here and collect the resource they needed to ensure the survival of humanity?

 

Not long, he knew.

 

Aubrey and Alice weren’t going to like it when he left.

 

The twins had become a staple of his wanderings, always seeming to be near the area he wandered. They were sweet girls and had warmed to him greatly since the first encounter.  It reminded Jon of a time with his siblings when things weren’t always so dire.

 

What was unexpected, was when their parents came looking for them when they lost track of time in showering Ghost with attention.  He’d taken to them quickly once he realized that they would pet and scratch him near endlessly. Tessa…Not so much.  She didn’t growl or snap at them, but she wasn’t about to allow anyone but himself to touch her just yet.  Maybe one day.

 

 

Arwin and Leila, the parents of his unlikely friends had seen Tessa as well.  And only through much pleading had they agreed to keep them a secret, though he suspected that the twins had already been spreading rumors. If it were just his own safety at stake, Jon might not have cared if people saw or spoke of them, but it wasn’t. He knew that Cersei could send a group to question the people of Dragonstone, and there would be injuries if that happened. Possibly, even deaths and they would be his fault.

 

Jon opened his eyes when he felt the water shift, its ripples brushing against the still dry skin, the warmth came and receded in equal measure.

 

In the form fitting clothing that she preferred, Val was a sight.  But now? She was near otherworldly.  Her long blonde hair was taken out of its usual braid, swirling in the water over the shoulder she usually draped it.  The pink on her cheeks only brought her fair complexion more in focus and made that slight smile on her closed lips all the more alluring.

 

Jon wished he could ignore her and regain his semblance of calm, but her moan of content just didn’t allow it.  Gods was that sound so tantalizing.  Leaning her head back into the falling stream of heated water, Jon saw the way her collar was pronounced, the slender slope of her neck, and what he wouldn’t give in that moment to be marking the area with bites for all to see.

 

As his attention was drawn to the physical reaction she brought out of him, his eyes started to drift to the water line.  It was a poor decision.  The water was hazy, but it did nothing to hide the swell of her breasts in the water, unrestrained by fabric and more visible than he’d ever seen.

 

It was purely a physical reaction because she was an attractive woman.  Nothing more.  Jon had to clench his eyes shut tightly for a few moments, letting his nightmares play over the back of his eyelids to bring himself back to reality.  There was no time for him to be pining for a woman. Especially not one of _her_ caliber.

 

“You gonna talk Jon? Or just stare?” opening his eyes, Jon didn’t miss the amused glint in her eye even though her lips were firmly set.

 

“I must be more lost in my head than I thought.  I didn’t even hear you approach.”  He hoped that sliding back until his chin was in the water would help to explain the heat in his cheeks without her thinking anything else of it.

 

“Can’t be good at sneakin’ up on prey if they hear you comin’ all the time.”  He swore she was doing this to him on purpose.

 

Jon said nothing, knowing she would find some way to turn it on him.

 

“Do I get to play the warrior wife again today?”  Val leaned forward, watching him intently.

 

That was what Aubrey and Alice had started referring to her as.  A warrior wife. Val mentioned the term spearwife to them once, and they’d turned the phrase a little.  It was probably better for the girls not to learn terms and traditions of the freefolk, lest whispers of them travelling south started to be made.

 

“Perhaps… They could see just what a man _does_ with his wife.”  She seemed to be floating towards him effortlessly, like she was coming closer without her intention to do so.  Jon could hardly see her doing anything she didn’t agree to.  While not as powerful as most men of the freefolk, there was no doubt in his mind that she was just as deadly, getting Val to do anything against her will was a tall order.

 

“You kneelers do seem to keep the… _finer_ details from the babes for a stretch too long.” 

 

When had she gone from sitting back against the opposite end of the pool, to leaning towards him with her hand slowly grazing up his thigh?  If the sight of her hadn’t gotten him hard as stone, that touch would have handled it in an instant.  This woman was maddening.  The vows he’d taken may no longer apply, but that didn’t mean was ready for this.  No matter what his body was telling him.

 

“I didn’t realize till we got done taking your home, after the cunt was killed. You’ve done it twice now, but still don’t seem to realize.  My patience is wearing thin.”

 

What In all the hells was she talking about?  Though if he were to think on it, that was about the time she lessened the amount of threats towards him, veiled as they usually were.  He hadn’t touched her in any way that could be taken as an advance, and he certainly hadn’t….

 

Jon’s eyes slowly widened with the realization. 

 

A mass of bone and rotting flesh barreling towards them.  Men, women and children being cut down without prejudice.  Karsi had been only feet away, Val trying to reach her, trying to make an opening for her and her daughters to escape.  The horde of wights hid the white walker approaching, it was already too late.

 

He'd seen the icy blade cut into one of Karsi’s girls, then a second.  As the third was trying to fight it off, Jon had reached Val. Pulling her by the arm hadn’t worked, she turned and punched him in the jaw.  When Karsi fell and Val yelled, he’d thrown her on his shoulder and bolted for the shore.

 

She fought, punching, kicking and even trying to bite at him.  She wanted to help her people, not be carried away like some timid and scared child.

 

But the dead followed, and he’d been forced to throw her in the boat and turn to face the white walker and his dozen thralls.

 

That was when he and the others saw that Valyrian steel could kill them.

 

“I… That wasn’t what..”  _Seven fuckin’ hells_ that wasn’t what he was doing!  But intent hardly mattered. Five thousand free folk had seen him steal Val.  What kind of man was he in their eyes, if he didn’t honor traditions of a people that now resided in the area under his control and protection?  The Northmen and the Freefolk were similar in that regard. They had no time for lies and deception, loop holes or half assed  explanations. He did the deed, now he had to live with the consequences.  Actions spoke louder than intentions and words.

 

“I lost Jarl, you lost Ygritte.”  He didn’t even wince at the memory anymore.  It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d been shot by that arrow. Jon didn’t like the implication of what that meant.  He didn’t want to be some bitter, angry, and paranoid man who looked over his shoulder after every step.  But life seemed to keep fucking him over.  He didn’t want to become so detached from his emotions that loss could no longer be felt. Because then he’d truly be dead.

 

“It’s time we both move on, find any piece of happiness left in this doomed world.”

 

An act of psychological warfare, that’s what she was doing to him, as he felt her fingers slide to his inner thigh and continuing up.  Jon was a man of conviction, doing what he thought was right.  There was little room for much else these days, and those times had been spent either in solitude or with his non-human companions.

 

But those eyes, blue-grey half-lidded and peering deeply into him. Her voice, softer than he’d ever heard directed his way. Jon would be lying if he said she had never haunted his dreams, to wonder what she’d taste like, the sounds she would make as he sent over the edge again and again.

 

His body had betrayed him, though his mind was largely to blame.  Her hand found what she sought, her lips twisting into a satisfied and hungry smirk.  He twitched in her hand involuntarily as the grip tightened ever so slightly, starting an agonizingly slow pace.

 

“Tell me I’m wrong Jon. Tell me that your cock isn’t telling the right of it.”  Her face was nearing, and still he could do nothing but listen and feel.  It could have been from how long it had been since he’d been with a woman, all he knew right then was that he wanted to lay her down on the grass and _take_ her.  “Tell me that you haven’t thought fucking me to the point your seed is dripping down my legs.”

 

 _Gods_ what an image she was painting in his head.

 

“I don’t want to be your queen, Jon, all proper and obedient.” He’d have smiled at that, if he were capable of any sort of higher brain function.  Proper and obedient was probably the last thing anyone would ever use to describe her.

 

“I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine. No big gathering or ceremony. Just the words, simple as that.”  Jon stifled a moan as her hand focused on the upper half of him. Her body rose halfway from the water and sank back down slowly with her hips straddling his.

 

He could feel the warm lips of her cunt at his tip, which seemed to be where she’d intended if the little wiggle of her hips was anything to go by.  So tempting, so warm and inviting, just a thrust away and he’d be inside her. With small movements back and forth, her lips parted so he rested ever so slightly within.

 

Biting her lip, Val seemed to be losing a war within herself as her body lowered an inch.  Jon no longer knew if he was capable of denying her, didn’t even know if he’d wanted to in the first place.  He needed just a moment to think, without her exquisite warmth distracting him.

 

Placing his hands on her waist, Jon stalled her.  He could feel Val go rigid, an intake of breath that seemed both disappointed and slightly angry.  When his head came forward, resting against the top of her breasts, her stance mostly eased.

 

He was King in the North now, and he couldn’t just let himself get carried away. Val was one of the few that he still trusted, one of the Freefolk.  There would be consequences for something the likes of what she was asking of him.

 

She didn’t want to be his queen, but that’s exactly what she would become.  The issue was, would it be a positive or negative thing.  There was still obvious tension between the Northmen and those from beyond the wall, and marriage was the best-known way to solidify alliances… typically.  The Freefolk did not follow the same customs, but they had followed _him_.  It would be a way to ease the Northern Lords though.

 

Jon would not ask them to change their ways, but he _could_ ask them to keep those practices within the gift.  Plus, what Val was asking of him wasn’t truly considered marriage to the Northmen, not without a ceremony before the old gods or the seven. They would not be made to kneel before him, but if they expected to trade with other holdings, a tax would have to be placed on those goods.  They could be as independent as they were used to or ease themselves into the culture of the land they now inhabited.

 

There was one more problem that had just surfaced recently.

 

The Dragon Queen had sailed from Essos and was now taking residence in Dragonstone’s castle. Neither he nor his men had seen any of hers just yet, but it was only a matter of time.  It had been near impossible to miss the three large dragons circling overhead of him and Tessa.  If he had to guess, they were curious about another of their species being alive.

 

Fingernails scraped through his curls and along his head, getting Jon to move back to where his thoughts really needed to be right now.

 

If he were being entirely honest with himself, yes, being with Val was something he would very much enjoy.  The problem came in the after effects of the war with the dead.  Should they win, there was still the south to deal with. Moat Cailin could be manned to hold off soldiers.  But dragons changed things.

 

Jon picked up his head, missing the warmth that radiated from her chest.  Those that were accustomed to the brutal cold ran hot, and it had felt good against his skin, reminiscent of days long past.

 

Her hands slid over to hold each side of his face, ready to lean down and claim the first ever kiss between them.

 

“Val… You’re right. I’ve thought about it time and time again, imagine your legs wrapped around my neck, wondering how you’d look after I make you fall off that edge. Leaving you panting, breathless in pleasure.” He took a breath of his own, not liking where he had to bring this conversation, but knowing it was needed all the same.

 

“But this has a bigger impact than just being between us, or the North for that matter.”

 

He didn’t like the instant frown that came over her, or the way that she looked for where she’d discarded her clothes.

 

“What’s the problem then?” Her voice went back to that cold and detached one from before.

 

“Other than Tessa, there are only three dragons alive in the world, all brought to life by the same woman. Daenerys Targaryen, and she is _here_ Val, on Dragonstone.  If she isn’t here to reclaim her family’s old throne, then I have no clue why she’s come.  Moat Cailin could hold back armies of _men_ , but those dragons would fly right over and head to Winterfell.”

 

Val’s brows shifted as Jon paused.  She knew enough about the customs south of the wall by now that he shouldn’t have to explain everything.  But he wanted no confusion.

 

“If she’s as mad as her father, I have no doubt it’ll come to war.  One we will lose if the stories of her having a Dothraki horde and an army of unsullied are true. But on the chance she’s a rational person, there may be a chance for peace. One where we can focus on the North while she does whatever the hell she wants to Cersei and her armies.”

 

This was not a conversation he’d ever truly though he would have, nor did he particularly like the fact that he was contemplating selling himself off.  But the lives of his people were more important, thousands upon thousands of them.  Even if he was still absolutely livid with Sansa, she was still his sister, and he loved her.  He would do what was necessary to keep her safe.

 

There was a moment where Val did nothing, looking straight down into his grey eyes.  She stared long and hard, searching for something.  Jon didn’t know if she found it or not, at least not until she tore his hands off her hips and let him fill her completely. He had no time to argue or question her, as she captured his lips in a searing kiss.

 

Hot, constricting, pulsing warmth wrapped around his length.  A vice of pleasure that he’d no inclination to escape from.  When she rolled her hips he moaned, which gave her the chance to slip her tongue passed his lips.  Jon let her do as she pleased, ride him as fast or as slow as she wanted, letting her tongue swipe over his as she wanted.

 

The intimacy of moments like this were long missed.

 

When Val finally pulled away, her breaths were heavy, forehead pressed against his.

 

“I told you, I’m not your queen Jon. I am yours, you are mine, and that’s it. I trust you with the life of every Freefolk man, woman and child.  I know you will do whatever it takes to see them through the long night and beyond.  If you must belong to a second for that to happen, then she’ll be wondering where her husband is many a night, because I am _not_ letting you go. You. Are. _Mine._ ”

 

Her trust in his ability to defeat a force that seemed unending scared him a bit. It reminded him of the way the Freefolk looked at him after he came back from the dead, or the way the Lords looked at him as he brought those three wights from beyond the wall.  He was no god, no all-powerful figure.  Jon Snow was just a man that had learned enough to survive this far.

 

The rhythm resumed, a rocking of hips and clashing of tongues that made the rest of the world fade into the background.  Jon could tell when she’d found a spot that was better than the rest, as her breath came heavier through her nose, elongated moans from her throat.

 

It seemed as though both had gone without physical pleasures sense the death of their previous lover, and the quick pace was bringing them both to the precipice quickly.  Val ended their kiss and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, moans sounding light and blissful echoing through his ears, her arms wound around him. With one arm wrapped under his and digging into his back, the other had clenched into his hair.

 

He was no better off, his breath was short and labored, the warmth of her, the tight walls of flesh around his cock made everything irrelevant but her and the need to finish. In this moment, he was no king, no leader of the living against the dead.  Just a man.

 

When her movements became jerky and uneven, Jon knew her to be as close as he was.  His hands gripped onto her waist and started to rock her back and forth himself, the movements stronger than she’d been doing herself. Val bit into his shoulder, something he took to mean that the added pressure was appreciated.

 

He could feel her closing around him, pulsating rapidly, just as he could feel himself losing control. His hips bucked of their own accord, wanting nothing than to spill as deeply inside of her as he could.  Mind and body were not in sync, and the body was winning the battle.  He had been adamant in not bringing children into the world that had to share his shameful surname, but his body was another matter.

 

Val shook in his arms, hips locked in place up against him, breasts smashed into his chest and letting him feel the peaked nipples.  Close as he was, Jon thrust his hips up into her to finish.  She shook near uncontrollably with each one as her climax took her, nerves on fire and hyper sensitive making her a wriggling mess atop him.

 

With one final, powerful thrust, Jon felt himself come undone.  One, two, three, four, five spurts of his seed shooting through her. The teeth lightly sunken in to his flesh slackened, kisses up his neck to his jaw followed with a content moan, a hand on his cheek turning him towards her.

 

There was a look on her face he’d never thought could have existed. Val was a warrior, a veteran against the undead.  Never could he have imagined a look so peaceful and full of contentment upon her face.

 

Jon knew that emotions were skewed when sex was involved, he’d felt that once before.  With Ygritte, the moments after they’d laid together, he could have sworn he loved her, rather than trying to maintain his façade of breaking his vows.  He had been fond of her, but love hadn’t been a part of the equation at that time.  It was the continued learning of her, being around her that brought that about.

 

But never had he seen a look in the likes that Val placed on him now.  If there was a face he _could_ love, this was it.

 

He wanted to kiss her again but was drawn away by the scream.

 

“JON!”  that voice was familiar enough now, that he could tell it apart from her twin.

 

Alice. And she sounded petrified.

 

“JON HELP!”

 

Both he and Val snapped their heads in the direction of the forest that she usually appeared from.  It took only a few moments before she came sprinting into view, red marks on her skin from branches of trees and plants along the way.  Her eyes watering and red.

 

Alice fell to her knees as she entered the clearing.

 

“Please…Help.  Mama and Aubrey, they’re trapped with him.”

 

Their moment was over, not that either of them gave it a second thought. Though Val did shiver as she pulled herself off of Jon.

 

“Alice, turn around for a moment.”  Val said, already halfway out of the pool.

 

Alice did as she was bidden, and Jon was up and making large stride to his breeches.  Alice was the calm one between the twins, less likely to be sent into a fit of fright and hysteria. It spoke of a grave situation for her to come to them as she was.

 

With breeches and swords on his hips, Jon called for his wolf and dragon. There would be no chances taken. If this were a trap for him, and Val was being brought into it, she would have protection.

 

_Ghost, Tessa, to me!_

 

Val didn’t have time to fully lace up her tunic, but she was dressed enough.

 

“Lead the way Alice.  Bring me to your Mama and Aubrey.”

 

The girl sobbed in what he thought was relief as she got to her feet and sprinted, a topless man with scars riddling his body and a woman looking like death incarnate followed in the girl’s wake.

 

**-LineBreak-**

**Daenerys Targaryen**

The last few days had brought something to her attention, starting just after they had made it to shore and walked towards the castle.

 

Maester Pylos, an older man that seemed genuinely glad to have someone taking the castle as their home again, met them at the large and imposing stone gates.

 

 _“I had thought the rumors of dragons returning to this castle to be baseless, though it pleases me to see that they were indeed true. Welcome to Dragonstone Your Grace. Welcome home.”_ The man bowed as well as he was able, which was not much.

 

Missandei had been quick to give her list of titles to those gathered, getting the rest to bow.  It was a small crowd of mostly middle-aged men and women, all of whom were looking like they had been going through a rough time over the last few months at the very least. Without a Lord or Lady in the castle, those remaining must have been struggling for resources since they did not have the knowledge or connections to receive help from elsewhere.

 

The stairs leading to the castle were long and at an incline that had her legs burning, and she thought that if someone tried to push her right then, that she’d fall with no hope of catching her balance.

 

The dilapidated state was of no surprise since even before Stannis Baratheon died he had been out on his campaign for _her_ throne. Dust and cobwebs covered the tops of tables, mantles and windows.  Without so much as a word from her, a gathering of women among her people had set themselves to the task of getting the castle up to standard. Some were even directed to her private chambers so that they would be in order come time for bed.

 

Maester Pylos made another comment that seemed strange to her that day, as Dany and her small council were being led to the chamber of the painted table, something that was renowned for its craftsmanship. It was a shame that the techniques used in Valyria had been lost to the world.

 

 _“I wonder if the others will leave now that the castle has been claimed.”_   It was under his breath, making it quiet enough that Dany hardly caught it. She hadn’t a clue what he’d meant at the time, thinking that the man was thinking aloud, and thus left it alone.

 

Now though, she realized that could have been a mistake.

 

Sitting in the great hall, perched upon the dark throne carved out of the same rock that the castle itself was made of, Dany considered calling for the maester and having him explain what that comment was about.

 

‘Someone is here, _my_ birthplace.  Who are they? What do they want? And why have they stayed away from the castle for so long?’ 

 

The whispers were hard to ignore, and even Varys had been having trouble getting a straight answer from his little birds. On the plus side, the spider had left to collect a report from around the kingdoms.  She was eagerly awaiting it, not liking that she’d been left in the dark this long.

 

Rhaegal and Viserion had been flying above the Northern part of the island more than anywhere else, which was strange considering they nested near the same place as Drogon which was on the southeastern side. They had heeded her wishes on leaving the smallfolk alone, and they couldn’t land in many areas other than the castle or the shore without causing damage to the surroundings. The reason for their attention to be drawn there made Dany think that these visitors may be in that direction.

 

Her patience had been quickly worn down on learning about these potential invaders and ordered patrols of the area. Only those that knew the common tongue would be participating, just in case they ran into other residents. This left the list small, consisting of a few Dothraki and fewer unsullied.

 

She didn’t want to frighten the smallfolk by having large patrol parties anyway, so keeping them to one man seemed best. If the patrolman didn’t return near the scheduled time, a party of 4 would be sent out, and one of those 4 would speak the common tongue.

 

These patrols had been going on for 5 days now, with nothing to show for it other than knowing where the village on the island was.  Dany had learned that the residents had been feeding themselves through fishing off the coast, and the change in season had been affecting what they could catch as the fish migrated to other waters.

 

What Daenerys was most interested in, was what the other people were doing on Dragonstone.  Other than the castle, or the depleting quantity of fish, she saw no reason for them to be here. There was always the chance that they were on the run. But if they were criminals, surely the smallfolk would have given some hint of where they were camped.

 

And they had to be camped, because there hadn’t been any reports of individuals that looked out of place in the village. None that looked the soldier type, which was what Dany considered to be the biggest possibility. Soldiers that had lost faith in whoever they’d been fighting for and fleeing after the various battles and wars of recent years.

 

The door to the great hall opened, Varys striding in as quietly as ever. Daenerys would like to say that she trusted him, but that just wasn’t the case. Time and time again Varys had said that he served the realm, and the one currently best for the realm was herself, so he served her. The moment that changed, so would his allegiance. This forced her to keep him at arm’s length.

 

There was an extra layer to his usual clothing, a sign that the change in weather was affecting him. It was almost annoying how composed he was at all times, and Dany wished she had such a skill.  She was good, but there were times when her temper and other emotions got the better of her.

 

Even from over 3 meters away, Dany could smell the perfumes that the spider used. She had to wonder how he could use so much and not have it be overpowering within close range. It baffled her, but that was a question for another time.

 

“My queen, I have received reports on your kingdoms from my little birds.” His voice was just as measured as it always was, but there was something that he seemed rather pleased with. Glancing to the side, it seemed that Tyrion had picked up on it as well.

 

“Is this something that demands a small council meeting?”

 

Varys shook his head to her question.

 

“I don’t believe that to be necessary your grace.  It is merely a confirmation of events we predicted _could_ have come to pass.”

 

That drew her attention immediately, more so than he had before. All thoughts of what she should have as her next step were disregarded, as there was only so many things that had been up in the air when they set sail.

 

“Very well. What news do you have for me Lord Varys?” Dany kept her hands folded in her lap, just to keep the nervous feeling from getting the better of her, leading to her fidgeting with anything within range. It was a bad habit that a queen should not have, less so for a conqueror. She had to be calm and composed.

 

“A song from the North, my queen.”  Daenerys sat further up in her chair, something that both Tyrion and Varys noted. Missandei was already well aware of how her mind had drifted since Tyrion had given a different account of the rebellion.

 

“Jon Snow has taken the mantle of his brother, though it does not appear he is aware of his potential legitimization from Robb Stark, as he continues to bear the surname of a bastard. His being crowned King of the North was from his own merit, and his being raised by the man the Northern Lords all had the utmost respect for.”

 

It was still strange for Dany to relate the Starks with anything but revulsion, but she had once thought near the same of the Dothraki, who were now like family to her. It was a bias that she needed to see passed, especially since there was evidence and accounts from so many people that spoke of how the Northern Great House truly was.

 

“The song tells of a number of things that I am not quite sure what to make of, but there are a few concrete facts.  Jon Snow has been named King in the North. There was an apparent assassination attempt that was met with failure. For one reason or another, the King in the North went North to the wall where yet  _another_ attempt at his life was made and failed.”

 

Varys was listing each fact that he could be sure of on his fingers one by one, having brought his hands out from his billowing sleeves. His thumb, index and middle extended so far, while his other hand remained at his side.

 

“Jon Snow has left the North in search of something he feels will help his people.”  His ring finger extended.

 

“And Sansa Stark has been left in charge while their King is away.”  After the pinky was extended for a few seconds, those hands were once more folded into the sleeves.

 

Just as it had happened before, Dany took in the information that Varys thought to be reputable, and once that was done her thoughts moved to _what else_ he might have heard.  There had been so much that sounded like a children’s story related to this man that she was now curious about what was being said now.

 

 

It was starting to sound as ridiculous as she knew her own sounded.

 

“My Lord, I would like to know _everything_ you’ve been told about the events from the North. Not just the ones that you feel _must_ be the truth.”

 

Varys opened his mouth to respond, but the rising commotion out of the Great hall halted all proceedings.

 

It quickly grew louder, to the point that she could hear the Valyrian and Dothraki being spoken by individual people.

 

This was all followed by the door being thrown open harshly. A group of unknown people stomping into _her_ castle.

 

The man at the front brought a gasp from Tyrion, not that Daenerys paid much attention. Her eyes were glued to him.

 

Dark curly hair that fell to his shoulder. Grey eyes carrying a fury and determination, with skill and experience behind it. He was not a large man, but for his stature, those shoulders were broad and muscled.

 

But it was his abdomen that had her eyes widening. He was without any clothing other than boots and breeches, a blade at each side. The scars were undoubtedly from being stabbed, and they littered his torso. She could see 7 in total, two at the lower stomach, one on the left flank, three around the navel. But it was the one just over his heart that had her attention.

 

They were all still very much red, though it appeared they had healed. The one on his heart seemed to pulse in tune with his blood, the scarred skin almost looked like it moved, _puckered_ , with each beat.

 

‘Who _is_ this man?’ she thought. The Dothraki in his grasp wasn’t seen, nor were the two little girls following right on his heels.

 

“Jon?”  It was Tyrion’s voice that dragged her from _staring_ at the man before her.

 

**-LineBreak-**

**Jon Snow**

 

Pissed off, angry, not even _furious_ was appropriate to describe what was going on inside of him as he marched up towards the castle on Dragonstone.

 

 _Fuck_ trying to lay low, _fuck_ wanting to get in and get out without anyone knowing.

 

If this was how Daenerys Targaryen was going to treat the kingdoms she wanted to rule, then she would find the North to be a bitter and _cold_ enemy.

 

His call for Ghost and Tessa had also brought Tormund, Davos, Norman and a few other Northmen that came to Dragonstone with Jon.

 

At his questioning glance, Tormund merely said that he recognized the way Ghost acted when he set off into the woods with Tessa on his heels and grabbed those around him.

 

“What’s the plan Jon?” Val asked from beside Tessa, this being the closest she’d ever gotten to the dragon, and that was only because Jon had given Tessa the task of making sure she did so. This order was, of course, met with an unpleasant huff.  But even so, Tessa knew that he wouldn’t ask something mundane of her with reason. She was young not stupid.

 

“This man is going to die, whether it be by my hand or hers.”

 

He was speaking of the dark-skinned man being dragged by Jon with, what seemed to be, little effort. Aubrey and Alice were huddled on the other side of him, still shivering in fright with pupils blown wide.

 

With the cuts that Jon had delivered to his sword hand, or what amounted to a sword hand given the curved weapon he’d wielded, and the shallow one across his chest, the foreign soldier could hardly keep up with the steps and kept stumbling to his knees. Curses were vocalized loudly, but none making the trek up to the castle paid any attention to the foreign language.

 

“Good.” Tormund’s gruff voice came from behind, and Jon spared a glance to who he was carrying with a grimace.

 

He thought then, that he should have made his presence more known to the others in that village, and just _maybe_ this could have been avoided. But he hadn’t, and this was the result.

 

The man in his grasp had come into the village, something that Jon was aware had been happening over the last few days. Before today they had been peaceful, keeping to themselves but seemingly looking for something.  That changed with this man.

 

The village on Dragonstone was scarcely populated, which created opportunities, something this man took advantage of.  From what Aubrey managed to tell Jon, the man barged in with weapon in hand just a few moments after Leila had entered their humble home. After seeing that she wasn’t alone, Arwin being sat in a corner with a book, the man decided it best to get rid of any credible witnesses.

 

Arwin had his throat slashed and was left to die as one of his daughters hurried into a dark corner and his wife was back towards the table.  Alice had seen enough to know that she needed to get help.

 

When Jon came in with his reinforcement, it had been a scene that made him sick.

 

The dark-skinned man was holding Leila down with his blade at her throat, tears streaking down her cheeks and towards the steel, as he _violated_ her.  After seeing _some_ of the scars on Sansa, the very concept of rape sent Jon into a near fury, it had been bad enough after Craster’s keep.  The noise made the man back up and remove himself, raising his strange weapon uselessly against Jon.

 

With two blades of greater length and superior quality, there was only one way for that bout to go. Jon disarmed him easily, adding the cut to his chest just to make it apparent that he was defeated.

 

Jon could not give them back the father they had just lost and didn’t seem to be processing yet, but he could get justice.  He _would_ get justice.  And though he’d only met them once, that extended to Leila as well. She was a sweet woman, concerned for her children and doing the best they could with the things available to them.

 

She had lost consciousness in Tormund’s arms almost as soon as he picked her up. Her jaw was already bruising, as was her eye.  The _scum_ that Jon was dragging had not only raped her but had beat her too.  If Jon was the one that carried out the sentence, it would _not_ be painless.

 

As the stairs were climbed, Alice and Aubrey were quick to tire, so Ghost came to their rescue and let them ride on his back. It was no issue for him with his size, being as tall as a small horse now.  Davos was winded as well, but he hid it admirably, knowing this was not the time to complain about the amount of stairs or the incline.

 

Turn after turn, set after set, Jon’s fury didn’t lessen. When they finally came upon the stone gate, there were a few more of the dark-skinned men in similar clothing to the one Jon was dragging. The ones with spears and leather armor were new but looked no more intimidating and no less foreign then the others.

 

Words were yelled, but it was all in a language or languages that were not of Westeros.

 

He stopped out of concern that they might attack. Tessa and Ghost would not take kindly to that, and _these_ men had done nothing wrong as far as Jon was aware.

 

One stepped forward, his helmet slightly more decorated than the rest, and spoke in stilted common tongue.

 

“Man, who is you? Why drag Dothraki man?”

 

The captive yelled something in that foreign dialect again but was silenced by a harsh fist to the jaw.

 

“This _beast_ raped a woman in the village. You will take me to Daenerys Targaryen. _Now._ ”

 

The man before Jon gave a look to him, the Dothraki captive, the woman in the hands of a near giant, and finally the two _actual_ beasts among them. Mainly the Dragon, before nodding.

 

“Khaleesi in big hall. Follow.”  Jon let out a breath he’d been holding from all the hostile stares.  He didn’t want more bloodshed than was necessary, so it was good to see that not all of her men were of the same cloth.

 

But it still painted a poor picture of the last Targaryen in his mind. She couldn’t control her men on an _island_ , what would she do with several kingdoms that covered lands vastly larger?  Even if he happened to be a Targaryen bastard, he would never allow such a thing to go unchecked.

 

The walk was a blur as Jon thought of just what he would say, only noting that each hall was as dark as the next. Finally, they came to a large set of double doors, undoubtedly being that of the great hall.

 

The guard made to knock for their arrival, but Jon was not in the mood for waiting to be _allowed_ entry.  He pushed with one hand, not noticing the force behind it, and the doors came open and swung open quickly.

 

The first thing Jon noted was the window directly behind the throne built into stone of the same kind that the entire castle seemed built from.  Then there was the bald man standing halfway up the steps.

 

The bald man reeking of perfume was disregarded for the other two, who were at the top. One seated and the other standing. One a woman and the other a man that Jon had met many years ago.

 

Daenerys Targaryen was sitting in the throne, upright and postured as he’d seen his late father do many a time. Her silver hair highlighted by the light still coming through the window behind her.  She was petite in stature but managed to give the impression of being just as large as any man before her.  Her violet eyes locked onto Jon, following him as he stepped to a distance that could be considered both respectful and challenging.

 

Standing beside her was Tyrion Lannister, gaping at Jon, green eyes wide and mouth slightly opened.

 

Tormund, Davos, Alice and Aubrey were hot on his heels, the others slowly filtering in behind him.

 

“Jon?”  Tyrion’s voice was surprised to be sure, taking in the appearance of what had once been just a greenboy wanting to do good in the world by joining the night’s watch, and perhaps find a way to carve a name for himself rather than just remaining the bastard of Winterfell.

 

A woman that Jon hadn’t even registered as being there seemed to become more pronounced as she took a breath, after taking a look at the unsullied guard that did nothing to stop the advance. Something that would undoubtedly be questioned later.

 

“You stand before Daenerys of House Targaryen. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the unburnt, the breaker of chains, the mother of dragons.”

 

No moves were made after the declaration, which obviously didn’t sit well with three of the four people in the room that weren’t with Jon. 

 

Davos made to step forward, but Jon was in no mood to have a dick measuring contest with said dick being as long as their titles.

 

“If you think this is supposed to be some sort of warm welcome to Westeros, I think you find the current matter a bit _lacking_.”  Jon spoke just as coldly as he had to the Lords of the North upon his return from the wall.

 

Tyrion grimaced at the tone, and the supposed queen of the seven kingdoms merely rose a brow, keeping her hands on her lap.

 

“I stand before you for one reason only.”  Jon pushed the Dothraki in his grasp in front of him and sending him to the floor while keeping his foot planted on the small of his back with plenty of force.

 

“If you are supposed to be a queen, then you are having a piss poor start of it.”  Jon dug his heel into the man for emphasis as he got to the heart of the matter.

 

“This man here, one of _yours_ , was just caught raping the woman in the hands of my friend-”  Jon pointed towards Tormund but never took his eyes off of the vision of beauty before him.  That aspect was not considered at the moment, his rage being the thing dictating his actions, demanding justice.  He couldn’t care less how she looked if she was as toxic as Cersei.

 

“After killing her husband, leaving one daughter to _watch_ , and the other to find me to help her.”

 

Alice and Aubrey had, at some point, come to stand at his side. They still shook like leaves in the wind, something that both Jon and Daenerys noted and felt similarly about. It was heartbreaking to see such young girls shake in obvious terror like that.

 

“So…Daenerys of House Targaryen, _what are you?_ ”

 

The question came from nowhere, and only silence answered it before Jon saw fit to elaborate.

 

“Are you a conqueror, a liberator, or a tyrant?”

 

The answer made all the difference to Jon. Though everyone had heard the stories of her from across the sea, it could never be proven what was true and what wasn’t. Her titles made her sound like some sort of savior, but no person could live up to an illusion such as that.  They were all human, prone to the same mistakes as any other.

 

It seemed as though either Tyrion or Daenerys were about to speak.

 

But a scream pierced through the room, coming from the dark-skinned woman with the hair of a summer islander.

 

The woman had her eyes locked on the entrance, slowly moving with whoever had entered.

 

Jon didn’t need to look to know who, or rather _what_ , it was.

 

Tessa and Ghost’s steps echoed throughout the entire room.

 

In that moment it was apparent to all that the game had changed. Daenerys saw both creatures come to stand beside Jon and settle themselves like it was where they belonged. The fact that Jon didn’t even so much as acknowledge it, spoke this not being something out of the ordinary.

 

Daenerys may be the mother of dragons, but she was not the only one that had brought such a creature into the world anymore.

 

And that shook her far more deeply than anything else.  More than learning about the truth regarding her family’s downfall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not too much going on in this one, just trying to get things set up.

**Daenerys Targaryen**

 

With her pulse pounding, Dany had to admit that Missandei’s reaction hadn’t been unwarranted.

 

Her advisor and friend had seen dogs before, but  _ dog _ did not accurately describe the creature, neither did wolf honestly.

 

It stood nearly as tall as herself, fur as white as anything she’d ever seen, and blood red eyes that almost seemed to glow with how the light was streaming in through the window.

 

The creature was beautiful, deadly for sure, but magnificent in a way that only her dragons compared. If Tyrion’s reaction to the man leading the intruders hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the  _ Direwolf _ would have connected the dots.

 

She had heard the tales, just as surely as those in Westeros had heard the tale of her and her children. Stark children each walking with a direwolf at their side. Something uncommon, unusual, unexpected, something that bordered on magical.

 

The man before her was none other than Jon Snow. The one effectively in control of half her rightful kingdom.

 

A strange turn of events to be sure, the man who she  _ needed  _ to win over if she wanted those kingdoms to bend the knee without resorting to violence and force, had been here before she was. The question of  _ why _ would have to be answered later.

 

Turning from the wolf, who had made no movements beside scanning the room, she returned her attention to the man standing between two creatures of near legendary status.

 

She couldn’t but think that there was something strangely familiar about him, something that tickled the far reaches of her mind. Was it how he held himself, radiating purpose, grace, power,and skill?

 

No, that couldn’t be it.

 

She’d met many leaders and the number of warriors she had met far outstripped that. None put all the pieces together as Jon Snow did.

 

This was something she would have to think on later.

 

As for the dragon at his side, there was more than one thing about it that caught her attention.

 

Firstly, was its appearance. Her body was different, the wings not being attached to the upper limbs. The dragon was young, she could tell by the sheen of the scales. They were being shed and replaced before they had time to take so much as a scratch or show sign of exposure to much of anything.

 

Last were the eyes, a shade of violet barely darker than her own. The way those iris’ glanced around, it made Dany think that the creature understood everything that was going on with clarity that rivaled a human.  She knew they were intelligent creatures, her children taught her that much. But this cerulean dragon made her rethink of just how much they understood.

 

“Well…?”  The voice of Jon Snow, guarded and authoritative, brought her back to the situation at hand.

 

That being his question, or rather his accusation.

 

With eyes narrowed and voice neutral, she replied.

 

“I will be whatever is necessary for  _ my _ people to thrive. The people of Westeros and those who followed me across the narrow sea. The people have had the sword of Nobility over their heads for too long.”

 

She was not a fan of being looked down on, belittled, or having her intentions skewed. Daenerys Stormborn was fully capable of speaking for herself, she did not  _ need _ anyone to boil down issues into their most basic elements.

 

Her response did not cause any shift of expression, leaving her without any hints of how her answer was received. She did note, however, the deep and slow breath that he took. It released just as slowly, pinkish-red scars made more prominent from the slight separation of tissue. They did not start bleeding, which was baffling given how fresh they looked.

 

The Dothraki held under the boot of Jon Snow had been struggling to at least get to his hands and knees but seemed unable with the pressure placed on his back, his face remaining close enough to the floor to kiss it no matter how hard he pushed back.

 

“One of the people you claim as your constituents has been raped, another murdered, both acts carried out by a member of your army.”  His hand glided over to the shorter blade at his hip, resting on the pommel as his eyes hardened.

 

“What will you do with this man?”

 

He was testing her, that much was easy to see. But what was he looking for, which answer would help her cause? Was there a difference between the right thing to do morally, and the one that brought as much justice to be had in such a situation?

 

If her answer was not to his liking… What would he do?

 

Dany noticed the unsullied and few Dothraki tense, ready to react should he turn violent. Something in her said it would all be okay, that there was only one person under threat of death here. If she had known the man, perhaps she’d have told her guards to relax. But she didn’t know him, and so gave no order for them to stand down.

 

_ “This man claims that you have broken your pledge to me, that you have forced yourself onto a woman.” _ Her gaze was locked onto the captive man, and if Jon Snow had a reaction to the quick change in dialect, then his posture didn’t mirror it.

 

Though if she were honest, she doubted that he had reacted at all.

 

Trying to at least get his face far enough from the ground to look up at Daenerys, and failing, the man spoke in grunts from the exertion.

 

_ “It is the Dothraki way Khaleesi. The strong take, the weak give.”  _  She could  _ feel  _ the disgust rolling off Kovarro, one of her most trusted and loyal of the Dothraki. Her bloodriders might ask about a command given to them, but they did not disobey. And she had been  _ very _ clear about this one.

 

Dany had to withhold the sneer, but her ire was rising quickly, like a fire spreading through kindling.

 

_ “You have disobeyed your Khaleesi. Your braid will be cut-“  _ When she saw the man release a breath in what appeared to relief, she wanted to scream at him. But screaming would only paint her in a poor picture, of not being in control.

 

_ “-And you will die. The night lands will not welcome you. Your body shall be thrown into the sea to be picked apart.” _

 

The reaction that elicited was something she had expected.

 

**-LineBreak-**

 

**Jon Snow**

 

The dialect she spoke in was harsh, the words clipped and syllables short.

 

Jon made sure that his footing stayed firm. He knew that his strength when aggravated was something out of the ordinary, and ever since his trip to the wall it seemed to be ever-present. This was how he had survived that death sentence, by utilizing a gift he didn’t understand.

 

Watching this Targaryen queen, Jon could see the fury in her eyes. She must have tried to curb the ways of the Dothraki. At least she wasn’t intending to let them have their run of the mill through Westeros on her conquest.

 

While minutely comforting, it still did not bode well for her control of them. From what little Jon knew of the Dothraki, telling them not to rape and pillage was like saying that Nobles and smallfolk were no different from each other.

 

There would be outrage from many lords, even though this was something Jon wholeheartedly believed.

 

One’s surname was all that classified someone as ‘Noble’ or not. Luckily the North was not as tainted by this concept, otherwise he would have never made it into this position. Not that he truly wanted it, merely knew it to be the best hope for mankind if someone who knew of the true threat to realm was in power.

 

The silver-haired queen turned her violet eyes back to him, the fury quickly hiding behind a regal mask that looked well practiced.

 

“He will die for his crime. I will not tolerate… _ rape, _ from any who serve me.” The venom laced into naming the act had Jon wondering just what this woman had experienced. His thought was thrown away nearly as quickly as it came. Her life story wasn’t important at the moment.

 

That was as good as an invitation in his mind.

 

“Girls, please follow ghost to the other room.” Jon spoke to the twins without turning towards them, feeling that it would be a mistake to remove his eyes from those before him.

 

His faithful companion understood what was being asked of him without the request ever being vocalized. With a nudge from his snout, the girls slowly walked back to where they came from, peaking back after every few steps until the door closed behind them.

 

There was something in the expression of Daenerys Targaryen that spoke of displeasure. Was it anger? The chances were fairly decent because his intent was quite obvious with his hand rested on Longclaw.

 

With a quickness that had all members of the dragon queens service tense, he drew the bastard sword and bared its magnificence to the room. All of those who had come with him had seen it before, but the others were not.

 

Tyrion and Daenerys were quick to note the quality of the blade just from the difference between it and any other castle forged blade. Both had likely spent time reading on the blades unable to be created since the Doom.

 

Jon lifted his foot from the dark-skinned man, quickly coming around to dig his boot into the ribs of his captive.

 

With a grunt and significant exhale, the man was put on his back.

 

The boot was once again forcing him onto the ground.

 

Dark eyes glared up at Jon, who could not have cared any less about this man’s feelings of the way he was being handled. Jon pointed the tip of his blade to the man’s neck and spoke, even though he knew their languages to be different.

 

“Had you been caught in the North, I would have killed you that very moment. Your last moments are a kindness you don’t deserve. But ours is the old way, and I will not deviate from it just because we are not  _ in _ the North.”  Jon spoke evenly and was only minutely aware of the translation taking place courtesy of the summer islander that seemed to be using this as an excuse to focus on something other than Ghost.

 

“The man who passes the sentence swings the sword.” With his delivery done, Jon kept to the words of his father, and the promise to himself as the blade leveled at the man’s heart. This would not be the painless death through decapitation.

 

With enough speed so as to not seem cruel, but slow enough so that the blades movement could be clearly felt, Jon pushed Longclaw through his heart.

 

He felt no sympathy as the blade slid between bone, cutting into them with ease as the heart was cut from pumping blood.  A rapist deserved no easy death, no reward for his crimes. Every ounce of that pain and more was owed.

 

The hitch in the Dothraki’s breath was a familiar one, his body quickly becoming still and his gaze unfocused as his life faded.  Longclaw was pulled from the body and wiped clean on the man’s clothing before Jon sheathed it.

 

His task completed, Jon needed to get back to work. Though there was something he felt that Daenerys Targaryen needed to hear from someone not sworn to her.

 

Jon wasn’t entirely sure that it was a good idea, but if his thoughts on her were correct, there wouldn’t likely be any serious repercussions.

 

“A word of advice.” Jon had the attention of everyone in the room, a variety of expressions easily read, and some well hidden.  To his surprise, Daenerys looked caught off guard at his killing of her soldier directly in front of her. Varys, as one would expect, was the hardest to read.

 

“For all intents and purposes, you are a foreigner coming to overthrow the current regime. The people will likely think of you no better than any of those in the Blackfyre rebellions.” Jon was not surprised to see that she hadn’t taken that comment well. No matter how she felt, it was true.

 

“All they know of you is what Cersei tells them. You will have to earn their trust and respect, but that won’t happen if you can’t keep a firm grip on those who are already sworn to you. Gaining their loyalty is a must, but they will have to fear you as well. Not the fear of your dragons, but of  _ you. _ Walking that line is a difficult task.”

 

As Jon turned to leave, so too did those that had followed him.

 

He hadn’t made it far before a voice reached his ears. But it was not the comment of her having been born in Westeros, on this very island, that was spoken.

 

“And your people fear  _ you _ for reasons other than your dragon?”

 

Jon stopped and turned to face the Targaryen with a list of titles that was far too long, thinking back on the looks he received back in Winterfell.

 

“Aye. They do.”

 

He had proven himself with a sword before being named King in the North, through defeating Ramsay Bolton against odds greatly against him. When the calls of him being a Dragonblood bastard came, he shut them down with the ice cold calm of the wolf.

 

Jon had proved to them that he spoke nothing but the truth as he knew it. Yes, he had a dragon and could possibly have Valyrian heritage, but he knew nothing of his mother. That secret died with Eddard Stark.

 

Having nothing more to say, Jon continued on his way towards the door.  Daenerys spoke again, this time with the authority in her voice that he assumed she used while ruling over Meereen. Only this time, Jon did not stop and turn to address her.

 

“Your  _ Queen _ has not given you leave.” Her voice echoed off the walls, giving the illusion of her being a much more intimidating stature.

 

Jon was nearly at the door, with only Davos and Tormund behind him.

 

“I have no Queen.”

 

As he passed through waiting to hear her order the guards to stop their retreat, Jon could not help but think of the double meaning in his words.

 

He was not subservient to another, no one to answer to. And that he was unmarried as of now, at least in the way that any Westerosi would recognize. Perhaps he should have chosen a different way to phrase that.

 

The last thing he needed at the moment was more complications. A marital situation definitely topped that list.

  
  
  


**-LineBreak-**

 

**Daenerys Targaryen**

 

“How is this possible?”  She asked to those gathered in the room of the painted table.

 

Tyrion, Varys, and Kovarro sat around the table while Missandei and Grey Worm stood.

 

The body had been disposed of as she had dictated to the man, and the blood cleaned from the floor. Daenerys needed to hear how it was possible that there was quite obviously another of Valyrian blood that had remained hidden in her home country for so long.

 

Where had he found the egg with which to hatch his dragon?

 

Were there more?

 

She had too many questions and not enough answers.

 

“My Queen. Before Jon Snow came into the room, I was about to share the rumors coming from the North.” Varys spoke from his chair, hands concealed in his sleeves as was usual. Smelling of lavender perfumes he seemed as composed as ever.

 

She on the other hand, was quite shaken with the events of today.

 

Stopping Jon Snow and demanding to know what he was doing on  _ her _ island hadn’t crossed her mind until it was too late. Though in hindsight, she didn’t want to come off as tyrannical. Enough had transpired that would sour her image with the smallfolk of Dragonstone, with a man dying and his wife raped in front of one of their daughters. All by one of her men.

 

No reports of her Dothraki taking a woman by force had reached her ears while in Meereen, so why now?

 

Dany nodded for Varys to continue.

 

“Rumors were spoken of a night in Winterfell, where the White Wolf as he has been named took solace in the crypts housing deceased Stark family members. Petyr Baelish, Lord protector of the Vale apparently tried to have their king killed in a fire framed against wildlings.”

 

She noted Tyrion giving his undivided attention to Varys once the name of this Lord Baelish passed through his lips. Tyrion was not one to waste time on people not of importance, she would have to ask about this man at a later time.

 

“Winterfell is renowned for being a castle of sturdy build, having thick stone walls and ironwood doors on key points. A barrel of oil was opened and spilled into the crypts, lit aflame and the door closed.”

 

Daenerys could feel her pulse quicken, the rapid thump felt all the way to her fingertips. She had been hearing too many revelations within the timeframe of her sailing to Westeros and now. And while this would be no revelation, it set her mind on a path that she didn’t know how to reconcile. She had already seen his dragon, which could only mean one thing as far as she was concerned.

 

Only a Targaryen would have carried enough Valyrian blood to have been running through the veins of Jon Snow’s mother. Her children had shown no interest in anyone other than herself, and Essos had more Valyrian descendants than anywhere else.  It told her something crucial to being a dragonrider.

 

If the abled Valyrian was too far back in your lineage, you would not be able to climb on the back of the great creature without facing danger.

 

Not all Valyrians were riders and those that had been, were set apart from the rest. At least this was what she had been able to find in texts. It was a kind of mirror for the nobility in much of the world.

 

“From what I have been told, there were a few individuals who ventured into the crypt once it was safe to do so. Jon Snow’s half-sister, Sansa Stark, Lord Wyman Manderly, Lady Lyanna Mormont and a person called Ser Davos.”

 

She perked up at hearing a familiar house, the same one of her friend in search of a cure for his disease. It was strange now, having to come to terms with how the Starks were viewed from another perspective.

 

Tyrion did not hand out praise so easily, and for him to say that Eddard Stark was among the most honorable men in Westeros before his death, that was no small thing. It was shown once more, as the Lady of Bear Island  _ must _ have been named after the same Lyanna everyone knew of.

 

“Jon Snow was found unconscious and covered in soot near the tomb of his father and aunt, unburnt even though the area showed signs of being directly touched by flame-” Varys had mostly kept eye contact with her throughout his telling, but with this pause his gaze locked on hers intensely. He was trying to communicate something without just coming out and saying it, for fear of how she might react.

 

“-With a blue baby dragon resting on his chest.”

 

And there it was, all the proof that she needed.

 

Jon Snow carried Targaryen blood, Trueborn or not, he was family.  The question now was how to handle this. She had tried to keep it hidden at the time, but she was quite angry with him. 

 

For the man to burst into her castle and, in not as many words, accuse her of being a tyrant like Cersei Lannister… It tore at her conscience as well as her ego. Dany tried to stay humble, knowing that she had been granted favors because of who she was, and that had played a part in getting to this point.

 

It was difficult though because she could never sweep  _ all _ of that pride under the rug. A dragon is a proud creature, flaunting its strengths and letting their opinion be known quite loudly. This was true for her children, and to a lesser extent, herself as well.

 

Knowing that Jon Snow had dragon blood helped to answer a question that Westeros had long sought an answer to.

 

_ Who had made the ever-honorable Eddard Stark forsake his vows and father a bastard? _

 

To be of Valyrian descent was to be beautiful, it was really just that simple. While Jon Snow looked a Stark through and through, she could not say he didn’t fit the mold. She would have to get a better look when next they met, but beautiful was definitely a description easily applied.

 

He may have been rather short, not fitting the standard she had come to expect through knowing Jorah, of Northerners being large in build.  But he looked as though was chiseled from stone.

 

Had he been fully clothed, Dany likely would have never guessed of the muscle hidden beneath the leather and fur that the others had worn.

 

It was fairly easy for her to think that some unknown natural-born Targaryen had caught the late Lord’s eye. While this line of thinking helped her to come to terms with how Jon Snow had managed to hatch and seemingly bond with a dragon, it didn’t exactly line up with her previous experiences.

 

While in Essos, there had been many that were quite obviously of Valyrian descent, but there was always something to be seen that said the heritage was not from immediate full-blooded relatives.

 

Taking away the true born vs bastard element, Jon Snow would have to be her nephew by blood alone. His mother was most likely a sister she had never met, that had never been aware of her origin. Someone who had likely warmed the bed of her father for a single night.

 

This would have made Jon Snow a quarter Valyrian, which seemed too low.

 

There was no other possibility in her mind.

 

‘So many questions…’  Too many to know where to begin, and that was assuming she ever got to a point with the man that it became a possibility.

 

“I suppose this only adds to our conversation about his being your top suitor. Though I must say it wasn’t the first meeting I would have hoped for.” Tyrion spoke, pulling Daenerys out of her thoughts and back to the room.

 

This had been happening more often lately, a quality that Ser Barristan had said her brother was known for.  

 

Missandei came to her aid, having noticed Daenerys not truly paying attention to what her hand was saying.

 

_ “Lord Tyrion has said that Jon Snow seems a more guarded man than even before they met years ago.” _ Her friend whispered into her ear, earning a small smile and a nod of thanks.

 

Thinking quickly, Dany righted herself and directed the conversation.

 

“My Lord Hand, how would you view your relationship with Jon Snow? Friends? Acquaintances?”

 

With a dragon of his own and holding much of her kingdom, Jon Snow had gone from being someone she would like to meet and potentially align herself with through marriage, to being the sole prospect.

 

How could she allow another dragon to be a potential enemy? She couldn’t.

 

Tyrion swirled his glass of wine, looking up to the rafters as he contemplated an appropriate answer.

 

“More than a mere acquaintance, although  _ friend _ may be a bit of a stretch. So...Friendly acquaintances?”

 

Well, that was certainly better than anyone else she had at her disposal.  There was much groundwork to be covered if she wanted to make any headway towards a more unified front to take on Cersei.

 

Using her children to take King’s Landing had been an idea that was quickly thrown out, as it would paint her in the wrong light with the people.

 

“My Queen.”  Grey Worm, who normally stood by silently until she asked anything of him, spoke. Dany allowed the interruption, knowing that the man would not have said anything unless he felt it important.

 

Hands clasped behind his back, standing at attention as he would any time they spoke, Daenerys gestured for him to continue.

 

“If Jon Snow is King of North, why he here? Is that not great distance away from his people?”

 

The question was valid, and one that had gotten lost in the field of information as she looked further down the line rather than the here and now.

 

Why  _ is  _ Jon Snow here on Dragonstone?

 

“After the second attempt on his life, Jon Snow left in order to search for something that is supposed to be of use in protecting his people.” Her spymaster took up the question with little hesitation.

 

“I have not been able to get a straight answer on  _ what _ they need to be safeguarded from. But whatever it is… The northern people were quick to change from mocking him, to backing him entirely. He most likely believes that Dragonstone holds whatever it is that he requires.”

 

When Varys and Tyrion had first spoken about the North, and the possibility of Jon Snow being named their  _ king _ , it had sounded as though that the lords would be all too willing to accept him even with the status of his birth.

 

Now it sounded as though there was some descent that Jon Snow had dealt with, successfully if Varys was correct.

 

And she did not doubt his ability to gather information.

 

Could that be used to her advantage?

 

Probably not a good idea, especially if she wanted him to ally with her and what she had been told of the North.

 

The question still remained of what he was guarding his people against, and what could be on Dragonstone that might help him do so? There was only one good way to find out.

 

“Grey Worm, I would like for you to organize a patrol of the island, scouting only. Once the location of Jon Snow and his party is found, let me know. Search only during daylight, I do not want them thinking we aim to strike.”

 

She would go straight to the source and perhaps get a better idea of who this man was outside of what she could determine from the information already in hand.

  
  
  


**-LineBreak-**

 

**Bran Stark**

 

He flew.

 

A bird in the sky indistinguishable from any other to almost every humanoid creature on the planet.   _ Almost _ , because the Night King could tell. As sure as the snows fell in winter, he knew that the Night King could feel when a warg was near.

 

It was so freeing, the wind caressing the feathers is he beat the wings of the bird up and down, up and down. The sight of this particular bird was extraordinary, so much so that Bran, the three eyed raven and seer of all, had seen the events on Dragonstone.

 

The events that had thrown his…  _ brother _ , into a rage the likes of which he’d never been witness to.

 

He knew.

 

The truth of Jon’s birth would shock the realm, and he wasn’t sure that was what it needed at the moment. The vision had come by surprise or accident, he wasn’t sure which one was the better label.

 

Bran had been trying to see more of Jon. He wanted to see deeper into what had happened for himself. Sansa had been plenty forthcoming with information, reluctant as she may have been to do so, but there was nothing better than seeing it first hand.

 

When the vision came over him, it felt…  _ rushed _ , like he wasn’t supposed to have seen it yet, that there was something else destined to happen before he became aware of Aegon Targaryen, Son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.

 

Why name him Aegon? Rhaegar already had a son named Aegon. What was his dearly departed Aunt thinking? Had she been thinking at all, or was this some intervention of the gods?

 

Had Rhaegar’s first born son been their chosen before the rebellion, only to change course and place that burden upon Jon?

 

Bran didn’t know what to believe, but experience had shown him the truth of the gods. They were  _ real _ , and they were just as tied to the outcome of the great war as any man.

 

Among the things that weren’t supposed to happen, Bran  _ felt _ ...or knew, that the woman on Dragonstone should never have experienced that. Her husband should have lived, the twin girls never to go through life with knowing the fear of that moment.

 

Watching Jon march up to the castle, the vision of his warged bird seem to rebel against him. He held firm, straining possessed eyes to stay, forcing hostage ears to listen.

 

And again, Bran felt that current events had been skewed somehow…

 

It was a difficult feeling to explain. Like waking up one morning thinking you were left handed and writing something down when truly you were right handed. It could be done, but just didn’t feel correct.

 

As Jon and the group walked out of the castle, his vision blurred more on one spot than any of the others.

 

Tessa. His brother’s dragon.

 

There was something about  _ her _ that had changed things.

 

Was that it? Was Jon not supposed to have a dragon of his own at all? Or was it simply too soon?

 

No matter the reason, the blame would have to be placed on Littlefinger for that. If the man hadn’t decided that Jon’s death could be used in his favor, who knew what would have transpired?

 

As much as he wanted to remain in these visions of both past and present in order to find some key to their victory in the war for the dawn, he couldn’t. Not only because he was not sat upon a weirwood tree that sustained him as Bloodraven had been, but because the small pieces of who he was before wouldn’t allow him to completely shut out his family.  The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

 

Bran, Sansa, Arya, along with Jon to an extent… they had to stick together. They were all that was left of the pack now, at least officially. There were members that had become pseudo members. Like Meera, Tormund, Val, and one Samwell Tarly.

 

Sansa didn’t have anyone to accept as part of her pack, not yet anyway. Arya was… refusing to acknowledge her attachment to one, even if they hadn’t seen each other in a number of years. That bond had formed, and if given half a chance he would see it strengthened.

 

He was unsure of the role that Daenerys would play. Was she to become a part of the pack? Her dragons would be a great asset, but they were a risk. They were magical creatures, powerful and capable of turning the tide in mankind’s favor.

 

But was the Night King similar? A man turned into the eternal cold, raising the dead and setting them upon the living.

 

Bran was sure of one thing, if the Night King was aware of the dragons walking the earth, he would have a way to defeat them. Resilience did not equate to impenetrable.

 

The chair crafted by maester Wolkan creaked as it wheeled the crippled seer through the halls, awaiting the inevitable reaction of when his sister walked through those gates. Now that winter was here, winds whipping through small cracks in the snow with a whistle, time was against them. The colder it became, the harder the fight would be against the Night King.

 

Bran could see the amount of dragonglass that Jon and his men had been able to mine so far. And while it was truly staggering how fast and how hard they were working to gather it, the more pressing matter was being able to weaponize it. They needed smiths, and they were needed  _ now  _ if Jon had any hope of arming all possible bodies in time.

 

The echo of Meera’s boots along the halls faded as his vision quickly turned black, the familiar feeling of being drawn towards another place overcoming him.

 

It was strange to have one pressed upon him so suddenly, more so that he was in the keep and not in the Godswood.

 

Meera didn’t seem to notice his predicament, as his posture stayed the same and he’d been quiet for some time before. As the dining hall came into view, she was startled by the way Bran heaved a great breath.

 

For a moment he just sat there heaving, sucking in air that never seemed to quell the breathless state he was in.

 

Stepping in front of him with a worried look, she saw that his eyes were far more expressive then they’d been ever since becoming the three eyed raven.

 

“Meera, I need to send a raven  _ immediately _ .”

 

What he’d seen… if it proved to be true, then it was  _ exactly _ what they needed. This was the most he’d felt like his old self in what felt like decades.

 

Jon would have to come home. Tessa would need to be here.

 

As Meera turned away from the hall, Bran wondered how no one had managed to decode the secret of forging the worlds sharpest, most durable steel.

 

_ ‘On second thought, it only makes sense because so few know of the common effects between Valyrian steel and dragonglass on the dead.’ _

 

He hadn’t been able to read all of the details over the woman’s shoulder, who had been flipping through books and trying to pronounce the words, with Samwell focusing over other texts for details on white walkers.

 

Sam had missed the vital information because it wasn’t in the portion of the book dealing with Northern myths. Gilly on the other hand, had simply opened to a random part of the book and started practicing.

 

It was pure “luck”, or so one would be likely to believe. Bran thought otherwise.

 

_ ‘The Gods must be desperate to hand over this information so easily.’ _

 

It was another  _ rushed _ vision, meant only to deliver the needed information to set them on the right path, of this Bran was sure. But there was the question of  _ why? _

 

Was something happening that the Gods saw leaned the odds even more in favor of the Night King? In that case, the chances that there was enough time to try and unite the people against this most deadly of threats was unlikely.

 

The North would have to stand with the allies they already had.

 

**-LineBreak-**

 

**Jaime Lannister**

 

There was an evil in the air.

 

One that he’d felt before, many years ago.

 

A ruler of golden silver hair, long unkempt beard, beady violet eyes that watched every shadow. It was an evil he’d slain with a sword through the back after killing the pyromancer that was moving to ignite the city in wildfire.

 

The ruler had changed, but there were similarities that made his stomach churn.

 

Golden haired and green eyed this time. A woman rather than a man. But the paranoia, the lack of care for those who served, the detachment from reality.

 

It was all there, just like before.

 

Maybe it was just a phase in mourning accompanied by the news they had received of the Targaryen invader.

 

Tommen’s death had broken his sister, Jaime could see that plainly.

 

_ ‘It will pass, and she will return from being this specter.’ _

 

She had to. He couldn’t lose  _ her _ . Anyone but her. Being unable to do anything as his children died one by one had been a hell that he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. Even in war, there was something to be done, a way to prevent it.

 

Twice through poisoning, and the other a suicide from grief… 

 

_ ‘Stop thinking about it. Nothing good comes from wishing the dead were no longer dead.’ _

 

With each step feeling heavier than the last, Jaime made his way towards Cersei’s rooms in the keep. Each step brought nothing but the same voice that had compelled him to kill Aerys Targaryen.

 

_ Make her see. _

 

_ Leave her. _

 

**_Kill her._ **

 

The voice sounded like their children. Tommen, Myrcella, Joffrey.  

 

But he couldn’t. Jaime knew that there was more to the Targaryen habit of wedding brother to sister than just keeping the blood pure. It wasn’t always the case, as history and the Blackfyre’s had proven, but there was an attraction that was near impossible to deny.

 

It’s what he felt with Cersei. He was the blade, and she the sheath.

 

They were simply meant to be.

 

But tragedy had warped her.  A cold icy grip on her heart, warping her mind slowly until she saw nothing but enemies…  Just like Aerys.

 

He hadn’t helped her in this. Perhaps his words had done nothing but make the situation worse.

 

_ “Fuck prophecy. Fuck fate. Fuck everyone who isn’t  _ **_us_ ** _. We’re the only ones who matter, the only ones in this world.” _

 

His sister had always been more likely to listen to him than anyone else besides their father. Maybe there was a chance that he could turn her away from this… tyrannical shell of the woman she had once been. Back to who she was before the wars, the manipulation, the blood, the death.

 

But first, he would have to relay the information about his conversation with Randyll Tarly.

 

The door was in view now, and Jaime hesitated. Some part of him  _ knowing _ that she was already passed the point of no return, but he wasn’t willing to accept that yet.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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